Anywhere Else But Here
by chromeknickers
Summary: Boy meets girl. Girl meets boy. Sparks fly. Dreadfully romantic, wouldn't you agree? Well, that depends on your definition of 'sparks'—or the boy and girl involved. No, I'm afraid this isn't one of your typical clichéd romances—it's the other one.
1. In Medias Res

_General disclaimers apply_.

This story was written for **Boogum**'s prompt (see below) in the DG Forum's Spring 2010 Fic Exchange. It won some awards. Huzzah! ^_^

Beta'd by the lovely Jessica (ToBeOrNotToBeGryffindor).

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**Anywhere Else But Here**

**Chapter 1 – In Medias Res**

There's an unmistakable fire in her eyes that threatens to rival the hues of her scarlet hair. Her right arm is poised and outstretched; her slender fingers are wrapped tightly around the delicate curve of her wand. She looks determined to make her move, to strike out with deadly precision. She is positively livid. Simply put, she is out for blood.

The one on the business end of said wand (and the glint in the redhead's eyes) is Draco Malfoy. Unlike the girl, he is sans wand and the blood that is trickling down from his nose onto his upper lip is not metaphorical—it's real. The ice in his steel-grey eyes belies the tumultuous emotions frozen within. He is enraged.

One of them—both of them—has finally snapped. Neither one saw it coming.

They should have.

What spell will she cast? What will he do in return? There are so many options with so many possible outcomes that I daresay I cannot begin to surmise what will happen next.

Confused yet? Well, you have just entered _in medias res_, so I suppose that it would be advantageous to the continuation of our discussion (and the plot) if I were to give some sort of pretext. Perhaps an explanation as to why Draco is kneeling and bleeding before a crazy redhead, whose wand is aimed at his head, is in order. Well, allow me to just get comfortable here, and I will start from the beginning—or at least as far back as I have witnessed...

If I were to say that this entire sordid affair unfolded because of a girl, would it sound too cliché? Of course it would, but it's the truth. Draco Malfoy's life has become an experiment in pain and humiliation all due to one particular girl—a red-haired witch, to be exact. Her name: Ginny Weasley.

How I wish that I could stroke the fires of my ego and say that I saw this one coming, but, alas, I did not. The first memory I was given outlined an ordinary day—as ordinary as a day in Draco Malfoy's life could ever be. He was heading home for the Christmas holidays aboard the Hogwarts Express; an annual event partaken of by almost every student on campus. Nothing too incongruous, wouldn't you agree? But you and I both know that things, as well as people, aren't always what or who they appear to be.

It was Draco's final year at Hogwarts, and it wasn't really measuring up to his expectations. Perhaps Draco's hopes were set too high, or maybe he just didn't care anymore. No matter the happenstance, he saw this year as his final opportunity to prove his worth as both a wizard and a Malfoy. Such ambition and lofty goals would surely be met. _Surely_. Draco, however, believed this to be _his_ year (though, incidentally, he had thought the same about the previous six years). He was sure to have more allies this time around, or at least this was what he had assumed. The double agent, Severus Snape, had been appointed the new Headmaster of Hogwarts, and the Carrow siblings were made professors. The latter would have been a laughable notion if it weren't so downright terrifying.

It had become a Death Eater-run school, and, as you know, there was absolutely no learning going on in the classrooms, not that it really mattered. Every student and professor was just trying to survive—Death Eaters and non-Death Eaters alike. Draco had no use for school anyway. He had learnt all that he needed to know from his father and his aunt, Bellatrix. And the Carrows…Well, let's just say that Draco didn't want to lower himself by being a part of what _they_ had to offer. Don't get the wrong idea. He neither lauded nor lamented their actions. He just never saw the purpose in getting oneself dirty. He had always considered himself more of a Machiavelli than a Caligula.

Of course, most of this is just mere conjecture on my part, from what I have seen and heard. I was never given access to his thoughts—just his memories. I had wondered, at first, if he had falsified them in any way; however, from what I have seen, they appear to be genuine. I am sure that when you take a look at them yourself, you will agree. But before we move on to the memories themselves, I think that it would be best if I gave some sort of explanation _why_ Draco did what he did. Perhaps it will help explain how he had managed to place himself in such a predicament.

To fill in some of the blanks, it was confided to me that Draco had second thoughts about returning to Hogwarts. His reason, as far as I could tell, was not out of fear of retribution (he would have liked to think that he was above such trivial concerns). Besides, he felt that he had no one to fear at Hogwarts, especially with Potter gone. No, you see, Draco's only obstacles were time and high-vaulted walls (oh, and pernicious wards—let's not forget about those). He had petitioned to stay at home to assist his mother, who, with each passing day, was more and more put out by Draco's ill-standing with the Dark Lord. His father, in all his infinite wisdom, had denied both his son's and wife's entreaties. Lucius' reasoning was that Draco needed to maintain his authority and influence at school. It seemed a logical response, but Draco knew it to be a lie. He had seen and heard what went on at Malfoy Manor. Lucius did not want Draco to be party to the violence and bloodshed that took place on a daily basis there. He did not want his son to be near _him_.

It is not that Draco wanted to spend time with the man—if that is what one could call him now. He knew, however, that distancing himself from the Dark Lord would do him just as much harm as good. The Malfoy family was not in what you would consider 'good standing' with the Dark Lord, and try as they might to curry favour with him, neither Lucius nor Draco could ever meet his high expectations. Remember that Draco, too, had failed—unable to kill Dumbledore with his own wand.

But, I digress…

With Narcissa and Lucius at the Dark Lord's constant beck and call, it was now up to Draco to make the Malfoy name illustrious once more, and he believed that he knew exactly how to do this. The only person in Draco's grasp who could give him information about Harry Potter's whereabouts or who could be used as a bartering tool for the fool's future surrender was the aforementioned Weasley girl, Ginny. Draco knew almost nothing about the little wench, only that she had a rather loud mouth and a temper to match her fiery red hair. Her looks had been remarked upon by several of his fellow housemates, those known to have even more finicky tastes than his own. To Draco, however, looks did not matter—money did. Wealth, class, and social standing: these three things were paramount, as was blood status. While the Weasley girl may have had the right blood, she also had a poor family and an even poorer social standing, so it really did not matter one whit about how good-looking she may or may not have been. Besides, looks fade.

On the same token, Draco knew that he could not appeal to her in that same regard. He was no fool. If she had half a brain (and he had reason to suspect that the half that she did use was barely functional), she would hate him for simply being a Malfoy. Not to mention the fact that he had poisoned her brother and long tormented her hero-slash-boyfriend, Harry Potter. No, you see, Draco had to go about his affairs with the girl in a more cut-throat fashion. There would be no charming, no seducing, no reasoning, no bargaining, and no persuading of the non-physical element. He would approach her like a thief in the night and take from her what he wanted. It was ruthless and cunning and maybe just a little bit evil, but he was a Slytherin, after all.

And here enters the first memory, the one where the seeds of action were planted. Draco had put his plan in motion the night before his imminent departure. He had nicked a bottle of Veritaserum from Snape's private storage, which, for the most part, the professor had made available to him when the need presented itself. How fortunate for Draco that the need was there and that Snape's cabinet was unlocked. Draco had then quickly located the expensive and invaluable truth-telling serum, which he had decided long ago to use as a means to retrieve what he needed from Weasley. After extracting the answers he sought, Draco would then deliver the girl to his father to be given as a type of sacrificial lamb for the Dark Lord, and the Malfoy name would rank high once more.

Simple plan, no? Unfortunately, nothing in life (at least in Draco's) ever runs so smoothly.

The second memory showed Draco boarding the train, holding his figurative cards close to his chest, concealing what he believed to be an ingenious plan. He had dared not reveal it to a single soul, including the two dullards who acted as his bodyguards. Perhaps it can be considered ironic that by doing so, Draco had, inadvertently, dealt himself his own Aces over Eights. But enough with the foreshadowing and Muggle analogies, I can sense that you are getting rather tetchy...

It was almost dusk when the train finally embarked on its lengthy journey home. They would be travelling under the black blanket of nightfall: the perfect concealment for nefarious affairs. And after some half-hour had passed, Draco had excused himself from his oafish housemates, who appeared none the wiser, and made his way towards the end of the train where the Gryffindors tended to congregate. Before he approached too close to where the enemy lay, he stealthily ducked into an empty compartment to begin the first stage of his plan.

Forgive my failure to mention the fact that Draco had stolen more than one item from the Headmaster's stock. He had, in addition to the Veritaserum, nicked a bottle of Polyjuice Potion as well. Oh, and absconded with a single strand of hair: Professor McGonagall's (not that the Headmaster had that hidden away—not that I know of anyway). Draco had obtained the hair through other means—means of which I will not discuss at such a juncture since its genuine creepiness will detract from the story at hand. However, let it be noted, so that we have no miscommunication in the future, that I received absolutely no pleasure whatsoever in witnessing Draco transform into that leather-faced old witch. To describe the ungodly morphology or the revulsion that I am sure he, too, felt upon seeing his own distorted reflection in the mirror would be cruel on my part, so I shall spare you the trauma.

Now, back to the memory...

Draco knew that an authority figure, such as the head of Gryffindor, would be able to lure the Weasley girl from the safety of her fellow housemates. Unfortunately, Polyjuice Potion only allows one to adopt the physical appearance of another, not their mannerisms or speech. Having Draco try to speak like the old bat would be rather difficult, bordering on the line of the impossible. Luckily, with the sour expression that the woman so often wore on her face, there would be no need for him to talk—just point and scowl.

After setting up the second stage of his plan, Draco exited the compartment with his newly altered robes and stern countenance, playing the part of a crabby old witch quite convincingly. Now, all he had to do was find the little whelp and lure her back to his private quarters. This had turned out to be easier than he had expected, for he soon heard her deafening voice sounding down the corridor.

"I have to use the loo. I'll be right back," the redhead announced as she left her compartment.

Before Draco could manoeuvre out of the way, the girl had already backed out, spun around, and ran face-first into Draco's chest (er, McGonagall's chest, I suppose).

"Professor McGonagall!" she exclaimed with genuine surprise, yet with little to no trepidation in her voice (much to Draco's relief). "I didn't know that you were on the train."

Of course Professor McGonagall would never be on the train! What, did she need a lift to London? It was rather careless of Draco to use her as a guise, in my opinion, but then the redhead could have assumed that the Transfiguration professor was on the train to keep watch over her precious little Gryffindors. It seemed as though that is exactly how the Weasley girl took her (his?) presence, for she offered Draco/McGonagall a thin smile, one forced out of sheer tiredness. She was putting on airs in order to put the old woman at ease. It was clear that she respected and perhaps even adored the older witch. The question, however, was if she would follow blindly.

It turned out that she would.

Draco narrowed his eyes and cocked his head back as he pursed his lips together, trying to appear both annoyed and impatient. He curled his finger back towards himself to indicate that he wished the girl to follow. Ginny raised a sceptical eyebrow but complied, following Draco down the narrow aisle towards a seemingly empty compartment. Once out of eye and earshot of most of the students (there were so few this year), Draco ushered Ginny inside. The redhead took a hesitant step past the threshold, eyeing him warily the entire time. She examined the tea set on the table in front of them and then looked up at Draco (in his McGonagall suit), expectant of an answer. In response, Draco sat down and took the cup and saucer in hand, the tea still steaming. He then brought it to his newly thin and wrinkled lips to take a sip, indicating, with a nod, that she do the same. After a moment's hesitation, she took the seat across from him and followed suit. Her eyes suddenly grew as wide as the saucer plate she held in her hands, and Draco's lips curled into a sneer, looking ever so smug.

While I could admit that the girl was more wary than most Gryffindors, she had still blindly followed the non-verbal commands of a supposed professor—of a Death Eater run school, I might add. How foolish indeed. And, as you have most likely surmised, Draco had previously slipped the Veritaserum into her tea, in the very compartment where he had transformed himself into Professor McGonagall. The potion had already begun to ferment in her body, as well as in her mind.

"What—?" she began, her lips screwed together in a befuddled fashion.

"I will be the one asking questions, Weasley," Draco stated in that autocratic, baritone voice of his, which was in deep contrast to the frail and waspish-looking old witch image that he currently sported.

Ginny's eyes instantly grew cold and narrowed, and while she was undoubtedly shocked by hearing such a voice coming from her venerable house leader, she seemed more irritated than anything else. "Malfoy!" she hissed, as she drew her nails across the counter top.

Draco smirked. He seemed somewhat impressed, not just by her control but by her astuteness. She was able to pick out his voice exactly. Perhaps he had given himself away with the acerbic drawl that he always put on her last name.

"And answer them, you shall," he stated with the sneer still lingering on his face, looking rather haughty and ridiculous in his McGonagall mask.

Draco then pulled out his wand and bound the Weasley girl with invisible ropes so that she could not escape. Veritaserum is known to make its victims docile; however, the duration of the effects vary in relativity to the amount of dosage. When the interrogation began, she struggled valiantly to resist his questioning, but it was a futile effort. Eventually, the questioning and the serum wore her down, and she finally obeyed. Although she could not give Draco the whereabouts of Potter, she had given him quite the arsenal of information. She had proven useful and would be worth even more as a bartering tool.

An hour had gone by, and the effects of the Polyjuice Potion had begun to wear off. Draco's body began to contort in pain as it reverted to its former shape. In that briefest moment of mental vulnerability, his spell on her had waned, and she was able to free herself from the bonds. She reached into her pocket to withdraw her wand, but not before Draco could disarm her and throw her against the side of the coach, the weight of his body pressed against hers. Draco then raised Ginny's hands high above her head and held her back as she writhed with tremendous energy beneath him, trying to shove him off with the full force of her body. Draco, however, was too strong. In the struggle to gain the upper hand, and having transformed back into his former self, his lips had come precariously close to hers, allowing for quite the visual scene to unfold.

Picture, if you will, the image of them both robeless, both heaving and sweating, both utterly dishevelled and in a most compromising and quite scandalous position. Imagine—if you can stomach it—and then picture some idiot approaching their compartment and hazarding a look inside. Brilliant turn of events, wouldn't you say? It had me entirely riveted and snickering into my hands with glee, but back to the story...

Draco had quickly turned his head, still pinning the girl to the wall with his body, only to see Vincent Crabbe staring at him through the glass doors with wide-eyed confusion. It would have been an attractive expression, if sported by the Weasley girl; however, on Crabbe, it was merely comical. Draco didn't understand or realise then that this befuddled expression on the oafish gargoyle's face only belied feelings of anger and betrayal. Ginny was also staring at Crabbe, and it was in that moment of distraction that Draco was able to reach down and pick up her wand. He then turned around to glance once more at his mate, ready to offer an explanation and show the enemy's wand in his hands, but that was when all hell decided to break loose.

Suddenly, the train went dark and came to a crashing halt, sending Draco backwards onto his arse, with the Weasley girl unceremoniously catapulting onto his lap. (You know, it is these moments in memories when I wish that I could add more than just conjecture, when I wish that I could actually read Draco's mind. But then, making up my own explanations is far more entertaining).

What Draco was probably wondering at that moment was why the lights had gone out and why the train had come to an abrupt stop. What Draco should have been focused on, however, was Crabbe. (Alas, I am the one who is witnessing these turn of events, after the fact. Draco, unlike myself, lacked foresight). Crabbe had changed over the course of the summer and the first term back at Hogwarts. He seemed so angry now, especially with Draco. Whether Draco knew this or not was hard to say. His failure to cement his friendship with the lad, however, would be the beginning of his undoing. (By the way, I love being able to point out the mistakes that people have made in their pasts: it makes me feel so deliciously self-righteous).

"What's going on?" Ginny whispered.

It was a question filled with dread, tainted with the semblance of courage. I was expecting her to jump up at any moment and begin tilting at the windmills. She did not. What a disappointment.

"How the bloody hell should I know?" Draco retorted with vitriolic exasperation. He then shoved her off as he used his wand to create a spark of light to illuminate the room.

She slowly reached for her wand that he still held in his hand, but he quickly drew it back, now aiming it at her face. Her almond-shaped eyes narrowed, giving Draco her most determined scowl. The light on the end of his wand made each freckle on her face stand out, both marring and highlighting her features. Perhaps the freckles intrigued Draco, or repulsed him. In either case, he stared at her face for far too long.

"Father, he has her in here!" Crabbe exclaimed loudly, alarming both students within. He then violently pulled at the door, shaking it, attempting to jiggle the lock open. The bloody fool didn't even bother with magic.

Two figures loomed in front of the door: the younger Crabbe's visible face and his father's, shrouded in a black cloak and silver mask—and Draco found himself confused and afraid.

"What is Malfoy doing with her? He was not informed of our plans," the elder Crabbe said, his booming voice piercing through the screams that echoed down the aisles.

"I think he's a turncoat, Father," Crabbe whispered in answer.

Draco took a step backwards, blanching at his name being associated with betrayal.

"You think he is working for the Order as an informant?"

Crabbe grunted in affirmation, and Draco gave the kind of look that indicated that his stomach had summarily plummeted to his knees. There were Death Eaters on the train, and they thought that _he_ was a spy. How could he possibly extricate himself from this mess?

"He seems rather cosy with the girl," Crabbe added. "He was snogging her in this very compartment for all the Gryffindors to see."

The masked figure drew his wand and pushed his son away. "Stand aside, Vincent!"

Now, you see, Draco is the kind of bloke who normally thinks fast on his feet. For some reason or another, his Slytherin cunning had failed him, having decided to stay back in storage with the rest of his luggage. Without time to think, and with Death Eaters seeking both his prey's head as well as his own, he reacted instinctively, if not impulsively.

Draco grabbed the girl by the arm and swore aloud as he felt the sting of fingers (in addition to poorly manicured nails) against his cheek. The little bint had slapped him! Growling, he yanked Ginny in close, eliciting a yelp. She tried to struggle, but Draco was unyielding and would not let go.

"Girl, I may have just saved your life tonight," he hissed at her through gritted teeth as he pocketed her wand and pulled her in even closer. "You can thank me later."

And with a loud crack and a pop, they had both disappeared into the night.

**xXx**

**Endnotes: **A lot of Muggle terms used, and here's their definitions:

**In Medias Res** is Latin for _in the middle of things_. It is a literary term used to describe a story that starts in the middle of the action.

**Niccolò Machiavelli** was an Italian philosopher/writer and is considered one of the main founders of modern political science. He is most known for his political treatise, _The Prince_. The work is responsible for the pejorative term _Machiavellian_, which, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, is a person who is 'in the employment of cunning and duplicity in statecraft or in general conduct'.

**Caligula** was the third emperor of Rome, who was known for his cruelty, extravagance, and sexual perversion. While not all sources on the emperor can be validated, he has, in history, been portrayed as psychopath with an insatiable blood lust (think of someone even worse than Genghis Khan).

**Aces over Eights** (also known as the Dead Man's Hand) was the hand that Wild Bill Hickcok held when Jack McCall shot him in the back of the head. The inference used here is that Draco did not know that this was his day to be betrayed or out-manoeuvred by an idiot—or, simply put, to meet his demise.

**Tilting at windmills** is an English idiom, which alludes to attacking imaginary enemies or fighting futile battles. The word 'tilt' comes from the term 'joust'. The phrase is sometimes used to describe confrontations where adversaries are incorrectly perceived or courses of action that are based on misinterpreted or misapplied heroic, romantic, or idealistic justifications. The allusion derives from an episode in the novel _Don Quixote_ by Miguel de Cervantes where the fool, Don Quixote, fights windmills that he imagines to be giants.

**

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**Boogum's Prompt (#2)**

**Basic outline:** Draco and Ginny are stuck together at Grimmauld Place. When boredom forces them to swallow their pride and spend time together, they realise that they have not only found a true friend in each other, but perhaps something more as well...

**Must haves:** Ginny and Draco not immediately liking each other. Feisty Ginny. Snarky Draco. Draco using his Black bloodline to order Kreacher around and annoy Ginny. Draco and Ginny becoming friends first.

**No-no's:** The usual: No OOC characters, no smut, no coarse language, no excessive angst, no emo characters, etc. I would prefer this to be light and fun, but I don't mind if you want to bring in some serious aspects.

**Rating range:** T

**Bonus points:** If Draco punches Harry in the nose to defend Ginny...and loses the inevitable fight that follows.


	2. Secret Keeper No More

**Anywhere Else But Here**

**Chapter 2 – Secret-Keeper No More**

Draco had Apparated to the first place that he could think of (from what I can surmise from his accounts), which turned out to be both a blessing and a curse. He had arrived at King's Cross Station—right onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. And, while I am sure that this was not Draco's maiden Apparition, it did appear as though it was his first time taking someone with him since his landing wasn't exactly textbook. The Weasley girl also didn't seem to fare well with (or appreciate, for that matter) the Side-Along Apparition. In fact, she demonstrated her displeasure by vomiting on Draco's shoes.

"Lovely," he remarked, toeing the loafer forward, attempting to rid its surface of the contents of what looked like that night's dinner.

"Shut it," she retorted, wiping the spittle from her chin and shakily rising to her feet.

Draco grimaced at what I can assume was either in response to her sharp tongue or her sickly appearance. In any case, the two were getting off to a grand start. Draco, who was most likely trying to come up with a scathing retort (which, honestly, would have just made him look like a total git), saw a dark-hooded figure looming in the shadows. When they had first Apparated at the station, it had appeared empty. The train was not scheduled to arrive for another two hours. Although it was late at night, and the parents had not yet shown up to retrieve their children, the station was still unusually empty and eerily quiet. Someone was always there, Muggle or witch. So, with Death Eaters guarding the station, coupled with the incident involving Mister Crabbe on the train, Draco had quickly sussed out that something was clearly meant to go down on the Hogwarts Express; whether it was to kidnap or kill was still unclear.

Was the Death Eater there in case the plan on the train failed, if anyone tried to escape? Was he waiting for someone to arrive? If that were the case, where were all the Muggles? Where were the other Death Eaters? Why was there just one, and what was he doing at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters? Whatever this unnamed Death Eater's plan might have been, Draco had to act quickly.

"Stupefy!" he yelled suddenly, pointing his wand at the cloaked figure.

The man, who had been oblivious to Draco and Ginny's presence, stumbled forward and reached for his wand. Fortunately, Draco's reaction time was quicker, and he was able to both Disarm and disable the Death Eater with a few quick spells. Ginny had taken this moment of distraction as an opportunity to run. Draco, however, had anticipated her urge to flee and grabbed her arm with his left hand whilst he trained his wand on his other victim with his right. He managed to drag them both into the corner, muting the masked man as two other cloaked figures suddenly emerged from the top of the stairs and walked past them.

"Shit!" Draco cursed under his breath, as the two men began to canvas the area. He then turned to the redhead and leant in close to her ear. "Weasley, I need you to co-operate with me." He pointed to the two Death Eaters who were stalking up and down the walkway. "Those men are looking for the both of us, and I need to get this man out of here so that I can question him without being caught."

"Caught by your own kind, you mean?" she queried acerbically, her auburn hair falling in her face.

Draco lifted an eyebrow and sneered. "You want to mince words here, of all places?" He harshly grabbed her by the arm. "Save it for some place more private, Weasley."

"What makes you think I am going to help _you_, Malfoy?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Think about it, Weasley. You are going to behave, and you are going to help me escape with this man because you do not want to be caught by those _nice_ hooded men over there." He motioned to the 'nice' hooded men with a jerk of his head.

Ginny scowled, knowing that he was right. However, she still did not plan to blindly follow her captor into a closed-off area, not like she had earlier on the train.

"Besides," Draco added with a sneer, letting go of her now-bruised forearm, "you know the more time you have alone with me whilst I'm distracted with this man, the better the opportunity you'll have to turn the tables on me."

"What?" Ginny asked in wonderment, furrowing her brow in confusion, as she leant forward. "Did you just say what I think you did?"

"Quiet, Weasley! We don't have time for this. C'mon now!"

Draco rose to his feet and motioned for Ginny to follow. Remarkably, she obeyed. Both ran, hunched over, while Draco carried the bound and muted Death Eater along beside him. After a moment, Draco spotted an empty room at the bottom of a flight of stairs, near one of the entrances, and led them all inside. Once behind locked doors, Draco finally had time to think, and the thought that most likely took precedence in his mind was that he had just attacked a fellow Death Eater! Draco knew that he was in trouble. The bound and masked man on the floor obviously knew who Draco was—he had seen his face. Now it was his turn to see the Death Eater's, to see with whom he was dealing.

Draco swallowed hard and reached down to remove the mask from his captive's face while simultaneously lifting his Muting spell. The grim expression Draco wore quickly morphed into a look of utter despair. "Yaxley," he breathed, and then cursed under his breath once more, failing to meet the older man's eyes.

"Malfoy," Yaxley growled, having gained his voice back. "What is the meaning of this?" He looked back and forth between Draco and Ginny—angry and confused.

"I know you!" Ginny stated in an accusatory tone from over Draco's shoulder. "You work at the Ministry with my father!"

Draco turned around and glared at the redhead. "Brilliant deductive reasoning, Weasley."

"Weasley?" Yaxley questioned with open incredulity, as he struggled to sit up. "You are working with the Weasley girl?"

Yaxley was in obvious shock. He was there when Draco had his wand trained on Dumbledore. He was the one spurring him on. As incompetent as he might have imagined Draco to be, he would have never dreamt that the boy would switch sides.

Draco visibly blanched at Yaxley's accusation but quickly recovered. "Why is it that everyone else is trying to ask questions tonight? _I_ am the one with the wand!" He threateningly brandished his weapon and then reached into his trouser pocket to pull out a small crystal phial. "Weasley, sit down."

Ginny eyed the ampoule in Draco's hand and, after a moment, did as he ordered. He then pulled the cork out of the bottle and forced Yaxley's jaw open, spilling a few droplets of Veritaserum down the Death Eater's throat.

"I can't trust that you would answer truthfully without this little aid of mine, Yaxley," Draco explained to the tall, sallow-looking Death Eater. "I want answers, and I want them now."

Draco and Ginny sat back on their haunches and waited, in silence, as the effects of the potion began to quickly take a hold of Yaxley.

"Why are you here?" Draco asked, after watching the Death Eater's eyes roll to the back of his head.

Yaxley struggled, tried to disobey, but he was not nearly as tenacious as the Weasley girl. "I was sent here to make sure that no one got off the train before they were supposed to."

Ginny got to her knees beside Draco, who tried his best to push her away.

"How many are here at the station?" he asked, his arm still outstretched, holding the redhead back, as he furtively glanced out the small window of the room that they were in.

"There are three of us," Yaxley answered, glaring up at Draco, who had turned his attention back to the Death Eater.

"Who was sent on the train, and why?"

Yaxley growled but answered. "Crabbe, Goyle, Phillips, and MacKenzie were sent to retrieve the Lovegood girl and the Weasley girl."

Ginny suddenly lunged forward past Draco and grabbed the tall Death Eater by the collar of his robes, yanking him upwards with surprising strength. "Luna? You took Luna?" she cried, shaking the bound man. "Why?"

"Weasley—" Draco began, trying to pry her fingers off Yaxley.

"Bellatrix Lestrange wants to use you the both of you as bait to capture Potter," Yaxley explained, answering Ginny's question, causing her to let go of him in shock.

"The Dark Lord did not order this?" Draco asked, open-mouthed.

"No."

"Does he know about it?"

"Not yet," Yaxley managed to grind out.

Ginny regained her senses and briefly exchanged a nervous glance with the equally shocked Draco. "Since you were unable to capture me on the train, will you admit your plan and failure to You-Know-Who?" she asked slowly, hesitantly, not sure if she'd be satisfied with either a yes or no response.

"If we fail, no," he answered, glaring at the redhead.

"_If_?" Ginny asked with incredulity and anger tinting her tone. She made to grab at Yaxley's collar again, but Draco intervened.

"Weasley!" he hissed, reprimanding the temperamental chit as he drew his wand on her and made her sit down.

"You're still here," Yaxley said to Ginny, an evil grin hanging on his ugly face, "and there are still two more of us out there who will find you both." He then looked up at Draco, and his grin widened, revealing cracked and uneven teeth.

Now it was Draco's turn to manhandle Yaxley. "And if Crabbe and his lot managed to secure Lovegood, would they meet you here?" he barked.

"No," Yaxley admitted with obvious defeat.

"Where do they rendezvous at then?" Draco pressed.

Yaxley's evil, self-satisfied smirk returned. "Malfoy Manor."

Draco's eyes widened, and he let go of his quarry. His shock quickly faded and turned to anger as he brought his fist down beside Yaxley's head, causing both the Death Eater and the Weasley girl to recoil. Draco needn't ask if the others would admit to seeing him Apparate away with Ginny; they would hold his family responsible until he returned. If they did not fully succeed in his aunt's plan, the Dark Lord would not be informed, but Bellatrix would. There was no way he could talk his way out of this. He could erase the memory of Yaxley here, but he couldn't possibly track down the four other Death Eaters who were on the train.

"Why are there no Muggles here?" Ginny suddenly asked over Draco's shoulder, and the blond furrowed his brow, wondering the same thing.

"We cast a Muggle-Repelling Charm on the station," Yaxley answered. "Muggles think it's under maintenance."

Just then, a bright, flashing light filled the room, and both Draco and Ginny dove to the floor. Swirls of colours flickered in through the small window, as shouts could be heard coming from all directions. A fight was going on outside the very room in which they were hiding and just as soon as it had begun, it had ended. Footsteps echoed down the stairs, and Draco and Ginny pushed each other out of the way so that they could hide underneath the table. Both cringed in horror as a spell hit the door, causing it to burst wide open. A man stepped inside, and a familiar face greeted the two cowering students.

"Professor Lupin?" Ginny asked incredulously, crawling out from underneath the table.

"Ginny?" Remus Lupin questioned, perplexed, as he saw the redhead emerge from the shadows.

"Professor Lupin!" Ginny repeated excitedly, as she ran over to hug the old Marauder.

The ex-professor embraced her, both confused and relieved. "Ginny, what are you doing here? How did you get off the train?"

"Mister Malfoy?" a voice asked from behind Lupin. "What are you doing here with Miss Weasley?"

Draco crawled out from underneath the table and glowered at the two men who stood in front of him.

"Mister Shacklebolt!" Ginny cried, walking over to grasp the tall, dark wizard's hand. "What just happened outside?"

Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt squeezed Ginny's hand reassuringly, offering her a thin smile and then glanced over at Lupin, who shook his head and walked over to where Draco stood.

"We will tell you about that later, Miss Weasley," Shacklebolt assured her, and turned his eyes towards Draco. "But, first, what are you doing here with Draco Malfoy?"

Draco glared menacingly at Shacklebolt.

"He wanted me to give him Harry's whereabouts," Ginny answered honestly, glancing over her shoulder at the blond, who was scowling something fierce.

"Were you with those other Death Eaters, Draco?" Lupin asked slowly, his eyes blazing with mistrust.

"No," Draco replied, straightening his back.

"No, he wasn't," Ginny confirmed, causing both Draco and Lupin to turn to stare at her. "The others were sent here—and on the train—to kidnap me and use me as bait."

"And Mister Malfoy?" Shacklebolt asked, his deep voice causing both Ginny and Draco to involuntarily shudder.

"He—uh, well…" Ginny paused, trying to find the words to explain. "I think he unwittingly saved me while trying to save himself."

Draco's brow creased, and he looked down at the ground in anger and humiliation. Both Shacklebolt and Lupin observed this and exchanged meaningful glances.

"I see..." Lupin began, and then turned fully to regard Draco, slowly extending his hand to him.

Draco's brow creased into a V shape, and he looked at Lupin's hand with confusion.

"It would be wise of you to offer me your wand now, Draco—and Ginny's too." Lupin eyed the wand gripped tightly in Draco's hand and the other one, Ginny's, bulging out of his pocket. "You can have it back later when this mess is all sorted out," he assured him in formal tones, although he didn't sound all too convincing.

Draco narrowed his eyes, and his shoulders sagged forward in defeat. He let out a long, laboured sigh through his nostrils and slapped his wand onto Lupin's waiting hand. He then withdrew the Weasley girl's wand from his pocket and handed it over as well.

"And Yaxley's," Lupin added.

Draco fished the third wand out of his pocket with a growl. Lupin nodded his head in thanks and then walked back over to where Ginny stood, handing back her wand while he pocketed the other two.

"You two come with me while Kingsley interrogates Yaxley here," Lupin ordered, putting one hand on Ginny's shoulder while using the other to signal Draco forward, ushering them both out of the room.

Defeated and seething with contempt, Draco followed Lupin and Weasley outside, leaving Shacklebolt in charge of his former quarry. All three stood outside the door, looking about the station, which was still devoid of Muggles as well as Death Eaters. Shacklebolt and Lupin must have fended them off. The question was why they knew to come there to begin with. Someone on the train must have tipped them off.

Ginny was pacing the length of the floor while Draco leant against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest in obvious annoyance. What was he to do now? The enemy had him, and now the _other_ enemy was most likely heading to his parents' house as they waited there.

"What do I do now, Professor?" Ginny asked Lupin, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth as she wrung her hands. "I can't go home. They'll be waiting there." Just then, a light seemed to have gone off inside her head, and her worry gave way to abject fear. "My family! Professor, you have to warn Mum and Dad—"

Lupin made a hushing noise and put his hand on her shoulder in an effort to soothe her. "They're safe, Ginny," he assured her. "I've already sent word to your parents and to your brothers before I even knew that you were here."

Ginny sighed, giving breathless thanks as she put a shaky hand to her heart. Lupin glanced over at Draco, who was gauging their conversation with curiosity and suspicion.

"We can discuss a safe house for you and your family at a later point," he added, eyeing Draco warily.

Ginny furrowed her brow in confusion and was about to speak when Shacklebolt opened the door and stepped outside to join them.

"Well, that was quick," Lupin stated, as he watched the Auror fold his arms across his chest.

"He had been given Veritaserum," Shacklebolt replied, as if to answer, casting a sidelong glance at Draco, who appeared unperturbed. "He is unconscious and bound right now. A Confundus or Memory Charm will have to be applied."

Lupin nodded his head in understanding while Ginny let out another sigh of relief. "So, what's the verdict then?"

Shacklebolt took in a deep breath and turned to face Draco. "We must put Mister Malfoy into hiding."

Lupin put his hand to his lips and lowered his head, knowing that this part was inevitable. "Where do you suggest?"

"Grimmauld Place," Shacklebolt replied solemnly.

Lupin's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "But we don't know who the Secret-Keeper is anymore—"

"It was Yaxley," Shacklebolt answered tersely, cutting Lupin off. "Fortunately, he hasn't taken anyone to Grimmauld Place; however, he did inform Volde—er, You-Know-Who." The Auror corrected himself, remembering the Taboo on the Dark Lord's name. "Since he will most likely not be informed of the failure of their mission, I doubt he will go to Grimmauld Place personally."

"Right," Lupin rejoined, nodding his head in relief. He then put a hand on Ginny's shoulder and smiled. "Well, let's get you to your parents."

"Remus," Shacklebolt interrupted, taking a small step forward as he cleared his throat.

Lupin's long face fell, and he dropped his hand from Ginny's shoulder so that he could turn to look at the tall, well-dressed wizard. He didn't like the tone in Shacklebolt's voice. "What's wrong?"

Shacklebolt took in a deep breath through his nose. "Miss Weasley will have to go into hiding _with_ Mister Malfoy."

"_With_ him?" Lupin asked, flabbergasted. "Why?"

Shacklebolt eyed Draco warily and then motioned for Lupin to join him in front of the door, in private. After an apparent heated battle of words, Lupin walked back over to the two weary-looking students and grimaced.

"I'm sorry, Ginny, but you will have to go with Kingsley and Draco to stay at Grimmauld Place," he stated with defeat, glancing back over his shoulder at Shacklebolt for affirmation.

The Auror nodded his head solemnly.

"With _Malfoy_?" Ginny asked, enraged, turning her head to look back and forth between the two older men. "For how long?"

"Forget about how long," Draco interrupted, looking thoroughly disgusted and affronted. "This is illegal! You cannot detain me and make me a prisoner. I am a Malfoy!" (As if this was reason enough _not_ to incarcerate him).

"Would you rather we let the Death Eaters take you home?" Lupin asked sardonically, and Draco glowered at the former professor. "Yaxley is the only one we have in custody right now. The others on the train and at the station saw you here—with Ginny. You've been implicated in her escape, so they must now think that you are working for us." Draco opened his mouth to retort, but Lupin quickly cut him off. "—And if you want to stay alive, you _will_ work for us."

"But why am _I_ going with him?" Ginny interjected from behind Lupin.

The old werewolf turned and put his hand on her shoulder once more. "I cannot tell you that right now, Ginny," he confessed, looking regretful. "I am truly sorry."

"B-But for how long?" she asked again, looking and sounding desperate.

Lupin glanced down at the girl sympathetically but then slowly walked over to where Shacklebolt stood guard, in front of the room where Yaxley was held. The two began to whisper, and Draco tried his best to open his ears to listen; however, he was only able to catch bits and pieces of their conversation.

"I will perform a Memory Charm on Yaxley so the others shouldn't get suspicious," Lupin whispered to the Auror.

Shacklebolt bowed his head and took in a deep sigh. "You might want to ask him a few more questions and find out who exactly put him and the others up to this," he suggested, glancing in Draco's direction. "I have reason to suspect that it was _not_ You-Know-Who."

Lupin let out a sigh and nodded in agreement. "Yes, there would have been more here at the station and on the train if that were the case." The ex-professor then drew his wand and opened the door to enter inside the room with Yaxley.

"Come, you two," Shacklebolt ordered, as he stepped towards Draco and Ginny. "I will take you to Grimmauld Place where you will both be hiding out for a while—at least until we can come up with another course of action."

"But, Kingsley—Sir—why do I have to hide with Malfoy?" Ginny asked, turning her head to glower at Draco.

"I will explain what I can when we get there, Miss Weasley," Shacklebolt answered in an authoritative tone, dismissing her question altogether.

Ginny sulked and then turned around to face Draco. "I truly hate you, Malfoy," she confessed with icy contempt, as she crossed her arms over her chest and stalked past him to follow Shacklebolt out the door.

"The feeling is mutual, Weasley," Draco rejoined, reluctantly following the other two out of the station.

**xXx**

So, next stop: Grimmauld Place. What suspense! What ever will happen to our dynamic duo whilst secluded at the manor? The rest of the story—and more—to come your way. But, first, be a dear and put on a cuppa, as I am in very much need of an intermission.

**Please insert elevator music now...**

**xXx**


	3. Dust Figures and Dirty Dishes

**Anywhere Else But Here**

**Chapter 3 – Dust Figures and Dirty Dishes**

Twelve Grimmauld Place. You know, I had always wondered what that place looked like—if it properly represented the pedigree of the illustrious Black name or if it merely lived up to its etymology as the 'grim, old place'. Upon sight of it, I had to admit that that words did, indeed, mean quite a lot. It was a dreadfully derelict building, to be sure, and Kingsley Shacklebolt had decided to take them there the long way—by walking. Draco and Ginny, dragging their feet the entire way, were led northwest along the narrow cobblestone streets by the intrepid Auror, and neither wanted to be where they were going: Ginny wishing to be with her family and Draco praying that _his_ was safe.

When they approached the worn-looking exterior of the manor, the neighbouring houses—eleven and thirteen—began to shift. It was the sound of stone grinding against stone until the two buildings managed to shove each other out of the way, revealing a worn set of front steps. At the top of the stairs was a battered front door—if you could call it that. On it was a silver knocker in the shape of a twisted serpent, but there were no keyholes, no handles, and no indicators whatsoever that could signify that the blasted thing in front of them was an actual door.

After some complicated wandwork by Shacklebolt, he beckoned his charges to follow him inside. Ginny seemed to know her way down the long hallway lit with gas lamps and a large overhead chandelier, but Draco appeared uneasy and confused. This uneasiness may have come from the shrieking portrait of Walburga Black or the dust figure of Dumbledore that greeted them, asking for he who had killed him.

Yes, I believe that it might have been the latter that threw him off (although, I'd be hard-pressed not to confess that, in me, the portrait incited malignant thoughts—mainly involving arson).

Once telling the dust figure of Dumbledore that it was Snape, not he, who had killed him, Shacklebolt led the two down the entryway. It was wide and long, and, from what I could surmise, the manor had once been grand; however, it was now gloomy and old—full of cobwebs, with peeling wallpaper and ragged carpets worn thin. Much of the décor in the entry hall was made of serpents (surprise), but at the end of the hall was an umbrella stand made from what looked to be the severed leg of a troll, which was rather interesting.

Pardon? Right, yes, I will get to the part where Ginny had her wand trained on Draco, but it is so much more entertaining—for me, at least—to give you the lead-up to it first. It is a rather interesting story and might possibly prove beneficial, information-wise. So, may I continue now? Thank you.

Shacklebolt turned to regard the two students behind him, motioning with his hand for Draco and Ginny to stay put in the entryway. "Stay here," he ordered in a voice that brooked no argument. "I have to go dismantle any enchantments or hexes that were set in place by Yaxley."

"He set traps?" Ginny whispered.

The Auror slowly drew his wand, as if for effect. "I am not certain," he answered, as he walked towards a winding set of stairs. "I will find out when I search the rest of the manor. The entryway is safe, so stay here until I return."

The two obeyed, and Shacklebolt left them there in order to examine the rest of the house. Once the Auror had disappeared, Draco leant against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, still shaken by the image of Dumbledore asking for his murderer. He let out an involuntary shudder and then grimaced at his own weakness. Twenty minutes passed in icy silence, and the Auror had not yet returned; however, they could both hear him going up and down the stairs. The two teenagers had tried their best not to face each other, let alone talk. One of them was bound to speak up first, and when he or she did, the conversation wasn't likely to be about sunshine and lollipops.

"So, it must have been quite the shock to see the wizard you tried to kill, eh, Malfoy?" Ginny asked contemptuously, her arms folded across her chest in a mocking manner.

Draco dropped his hands to his sides and pushed himself off the wall. "Just as shocking as it must be for you to be in your ex-boyfriend's old haunt, I suspect," he replied, sneering, regarding her with cool (and controlled, I might add) apathy. "Tell me, Weasley, who broke up with whom again?" He raised a pale eyebrow in ridicule, staring the girl down.

"That's none of your business, you slimy git!" she hissed at him, bristling at his insinuation as she played her fingers along the length of her wand.

Draco wasn't one to let a sleeping dog lie, especially if that dog had chosen to attack first. "It was Potter who decided to break it off with you, wasn't it, Weasley?"

She gave him a withered look—the kind that told him all that he needed to know.

He laughed. "You know, Weasley, I wouldn't believe any of the rubbish that he might have told you about wanting to save you, because look at where you are now." He motioned to their surroundings with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Death Eaters still came for you, and Potter didn't do a damn thing to save you."

"I can take care of myself!" she snapped at him, taking a threatening step forward as she tried, desperately, to harness any self-control that she might have had.

Draco was not intimidated. He knew that he had struck a chord. She was too easy a mark, too gullible a rube.

"Right, I can see that," he agreed facetiously, nodding. "Brilliant job on the train by the way."

Ginny's brow knitted in annoyance, and her eyes narrowed. "Why you insufferable prat! I—"

Draco took a step forward this time, intent on throwing her off guard. He knew that she would never use her wand on him—not with Shacklebolt in the house.

"He just wanted to get rid of you, Weasley," he taunted, with a triumphant smirk touching his lips. "Potter wanted to release himself of the burden of having to lie to you and tell you that he loves you." He snorted, unabashedly looking her up and down while he shoved his fists into his trouser pockets. "Hell, he's probably shagging that disgusting Mudblood right now—"

—Slap—

The action itself was swift and unexpected. The Weasley girl had left a large red welt on the side of Draco's pale face, rendering him speechless—but not for long.

"You filthy blood traitor!" he spat, bringing his well-manicured hand to his red-hot stinging cheek.

A sound came from behind them—the sound of someone clearing his throat.

"I see that you two are getting along," Shacklebolt commented, with a raised eyebrow, witnessing the dramatic scene before him and trying desperately to hide his amusement with a mask of disapproval.

A guilty expression washed over Ginny's face; however, it was a look that was unrepentant—guilt only felt because she had been caught. "So, how are things?" she asked in a small voice (obviously put on).

Shacklebolt looked as though he had to check himself from winking knowingly at the redhead. "I inspected each floor, each room, and the manor is safe for now," the Auror answered, a serious expression looming on his dark face. "I have placed some additional wards on the house in order to keep you both safe in my absence."

"You're leaving?" Ginny asked with obvious shock in her voice.

Shacklebolt nodded his head in affirmation. "Yes. I must get a hold of the rest of the Order so that we can decide what to do with Mister Malfoy—and yourself, Miss Weasley."

"How long will that take?" she asked, pouting.

"A few days," he answered. "No one is really certain of where Harry is right now, so it will take some ingenuity, on my part, to contact him without giving away his location."

If Draco was surprised by this revelation, he did not show it. He remained passive and stone-faced, leaning casually against the wall. Ginny, on the other hand, did not hide her emotions well—at all, really. She began to worry her bottom lip with her teeth, indicating her concern for her potentially lost boyfriend—_ex_-boyfriend.

"You have your wand, Ginny," Shacklebolt stated, as if this was her insurance. "There are enough supplies here to keep you until I get back. In the meantime, neither of you can leave this house. It is unsafe for you to step outside, as Death Eaters might still be patrolling the vicinity."

"Why keep us here if it's not safe?" the redhead asked petulantly, surprising Draco by asking the question that was most likely on his mind.

The Auror smiled reassuringly. "This house had been placed under every security measure known to wizard-kind," he answered in a deep voice that seemed to put Ginny at ease, but not Draco. "It is safer here then you could possibly imagine."

"What's to keep us here?" Draco questioned darkly, knowing that some magic had to hold him here against his will, and he wanted to know exactly what it was.

Shacklebolt's smile widened. It wasn't patronising, but it wasn't exactly friendly either. "You could not leave the manor, even if you wanted to," he answered. "I will be setting an enchantment outside the house that will confuse anyone who should decide to leave without permission or password."

"But how is that safe?" Ginny asked, looking vexed. "I mean, if I were to run outside and get confused, couldn't a Death Eater easily kidnap me or do away with me?"

"Do away with you?" Draco snorted.

Ginny narrowed her eyes and then turned her head in a huff, ignoring him.

"The effects of the modified Confundus Charm would force you to re-enter the house," Shacklebolt explained patiently. "Besides, this is more for our benefit than yours, Ginny."

"How is that?" she asked, perplexed.

Shacklebolt looked over at Draco, and Draco shook his head, letting out a hollow laugh.

"Even if a Death Eater managed to extract someone from outside the house, someone like me, I would be too confused to tell them where you are or what went on inside the house or even at the station earlier." Draco's eyes met Shacklebolt's. "Is that not right?"

"Yes," the Auror confirmed with a nod. "By the time they would be able to fix your memory properly, we would have already cleared out the manor and taken Ginny some place else."

"So, when one of us leaves this house, you will be warned," Draco stated more so than asked.

Shacklebolt nodded in affirmation once more, and Ginny let out a sigh of relief. "The only way you two can leave this house is if one of three things happen: I either have to come back to lift the enchantments, die, which automatically lifts all of my wards, or Harry must return and allow you to leave, as he is the legal and rightful owner of the estate."

Draco shook his head, looking unconvinced. "You can't expect that someone won't be coming around to look for me," he stated with confidence. "Yaxley and others, I'm sure, know of this place."

Shacklebolt took in a deep breath. "Yaxley will no longer know this location because certain memories of his will be either erased or tampered with," he explained logically. "Besides, the only one he gave the whereabouts of this place to would most likely never come here."

Both Draco and Ginny shuddered, remembering who was the only other person who knew of Grimmauld Place's location.

"The manor is Unplottable," the Auror added, as if this would placate their fears. "It has also been placed under the Fidelius Charm, and only those who have been told of its location by the Secret-Keeper are allowed access to it. Yaxley is no longer a Secret-Keeper, so you needn't worry about a Death Eater stepping inside."

"But you said that Death Eaters might be patrolling the area," Ginny commented, knitting her brow in concern.

"Yes, but that doesn't have anything to do with Yaxley but rather with what happened tonight. King's Cross Station is only twenty minutes from here. If you want to play the percentages, there's always the likelihood of Death Eaters patrolling this area for the next few days, which is another reason why I have to stay away, until it is safe to approach."

The redhead frowned. "So, we're safe as long as we stay in here?"

"Correct," he answered in his slow, deep voice—calm and controlled. "There is one more addendum that I must address: an alarm will be set off if an unauthorised person enters the house."

"Unauthorised?" Ginny asked, looking thoroughly nonplussed. "I thought you said that no Death Eaters know of this place except You-Know-Who." She cast a sidelong glance at Draco and then turned her attention back to Shacklebolt.

The Auror's countenance darkened. "Severus Snape still knows of this location," he answered, turning briefly to regard Draco, who only stared straight ahead. "Right now, this alarm will only serve as a warning. When it goes off, you should both hide—preferably in the cupboard just off the kitchen. When I return, I will strengthen the enchantments." The tall wizard then nodded to them both and made his way towards the exit.

"Wait, Kingsley!" Ginny called out, and he turned to regard the panicked redhead with curiosity. "Why—why do I have to stay here with Malfoy? Why can't I go home to my family?"

Shacklebolt gazed down at the girl with sympathetic eyes. "It is safer for your family if I do not lead you—and Death Eaters—directly to them." He raised a large, dark hand as she opened her mouth to protest. "Furthermore, the conspirators in your failed abduction believe that Mister Malfoy here is working for the Order."

Draco raised an ashy eyebrow at this revelation.

"They think that he has saved you."

"But he..." Ginny paused, turning to look at Draco, who only offered her a scowl. "I don't understand."

"Of course you wouldn't," Draco muttered under his breath.

"Sod off!" Ginny barked at him with unrestrained anger, and turned back to regard Shacklebolt. "What I was trying to say was…why have the two of us hide together?" She looked at the Auror pleadingly. "I understand that you need to hide Malfoy here in order to save his useless, wretched life." She then glared menacingly over her shoulder at Draco for emphasis. "But why do I have to stay here with him?"

Shacklebolt shook his head and straightened his back, demonstrating his formidable height. "We haven't yet decided what to do with Mister Malfoy, and as for you—anywhere we take you now would be unsafe. They already know that Mister Malfoy took you off the train. Any possible safe house—houses of your family members—will be monitored now. However, they believe that they have total control over this place, and now that we have reclaimed it without their knowledge, it is the perfect place to hide you both."

"So..." Ginny paused, looking unconvinced. "The closer to danger, the farther we are from harm?" she asked sceptically.

Draco snorted. "Then why not hide us at _my_ place?" he offered with a derisive drawl, lazily shrugging his shoulders forward. "That's fairly close to danger."

Shacklebolt briefly looked from Draco to Ginny and then began to straighten out his pristine robes. "I will be back as soon as possible," he promised. "Be safe."

And with that, the tall Auror turned on his heel and exited the manor, leaving behind two teenagers simmering in the air of hostility.

**xXx**

The first day had gone by without incident. Of course, this was because both refused to address each other in any way. However, as one day turned into two and then into three, things began to become a little more strained and, well, a little smellier. You see, Ginny was the only one with a wand, and in a non-Muggle house, it was a rather difficult task to produce food or maintain hygiene without the aid of one—a wand, that is. Ginny was doing well in her room while Draco was doing not faring so well in his. For three days, he went without food or bath. He had managed to steal water from the jugs that the redhead left in the kitchen, but other than that, he was left to his grumbling stomach. Ginny had not noticed Draco's predicament—most likely because she didn't care. However, she soon noted the smell that wafted from Draco's room when she opened his door, to see him lying on his bed.

"Bloody hell, Malfoy!" she exclaimed, pinching the end of her nose. "You wager you're ripe enough to take a bath now?"

(While I'm sure that Draco was a smelly little bugger, I do believe that she was being a touch too dramatic. I mean it's not like the manor itself smelled like baked sweets and roses).

"I would if I had a wand to do so," he replied flatly, still lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

"What?" she asked, boldly stepping past the threshold into his room.

Draco laced his fingers together behind his head as he continued his staring competition with the ceiling. "I suppose you forgot that the rules of magic apply here," he stated patronisingly. "I cannot make food and water out of nothing, Weasley, and I certainly cannot conjure either without a wand."

The redhead opened her mouth to speak but, just as quickly, closed it. She was at a loss for words. They had been together in that house for three days, and she hadn't noticed that he had neither eaten nor bathed.

"Oh," was all that she could manage in reply.

"Now, if you don't mind, Weasley," he began with crafted politeness, "I'd like to resume my original plan of ignoring you."

Ginny rolled her eyes and brought her arms down to her sides. She then turned on her heel and charged out the door, slamming it shut behind her. After a few minutes of silence, Draco got out of bed and opened his door, looking across the way at Ginny's. With the light still on in her room, he silently descended the staircase towards the basement, which was a cavernous room with a kitchen, pantry, cupboard, and a large stone fireplace at the far end. He slowly walked towards the pantry and opened the door to look inside, like he had been doing for the past three days. Most of the food inside was powdered or part of mixtures—meals that needed to be cooked or magically prepared in order to be made edible.

"You know, the stove is gas—just like all the lamps in this house," the redhead stated condescendingly from behind him, causing him to turn around in shock.

The look of annoyance on his face matched the irritation in her voice. "So?" he asked cantankerously.

"So, there are tonnes of pots and pans in the kitchen," she offered as an answer, as she walked past him. "You could have easily made a meal yourself."

"Really, and how would I have started the contraption?" he asked impertinently.

"You could have asked me," she replied, crossing her arms over her chest, refusing to show the man that she felt any guilt.

Draco did not plan to let this one easily slide. He was bound and determined to make her feel guilty. He needed someone's sympathy, even if it was a blood traitor's.

"You made it a point to avoid me," he stated haughtily.

The redhead was not convinced. "You don't know how to cook, do you?" she asked, tilting her head to the side, examining his reaction.

"Pardon?" he asked, irked at how she so brazenly appraised him.

"Just admit it, Malfoy," she said, uncrossing her arms. "You have never cooked a meal because you have been pampered your whole life!"

(Oh, _this_ wasn't going to lead to a fight…)

Draco's grey eyes narrowed. "I will not be made to feel guilty because my life is better than yours, Weasley," he stated with confident arrogance.

"That's a matter of opinion," she retorted with equal confidence.

They both stared each other down, waiting for the other to make the next move—to break down, to explode. The latter never came. Pity, really.

Draco threw his hands up in frustration and made his way into the kitchen, poking hesitantly at the gas stove. "Just show me how to bloody well turn this thing on, would you?" he asked, turning around to glare at her with a look of superiority plastered on his pale, pointed face.

She walked over, unperturbed and unfazed by his rudeness or his pompous airs. She reached past him and flicked on one of the knobs. "There, have at it," she announced facetiously, smirking triumphantly at him.

Gas began to breeze out, and Draco frowned, lowering his face down so that it was level with the stove. "Shouldn't there be fire?" he asked, not entirely sure of the mechanics of cooking but certain that it involved heat—fire.

Just then, the redhead lowered her wand and lit the gas, causing a quick burst of flames to reach out and lick at Draco's face. He jumped back in horror and reached up to touch his forehead.

"Weasley!" he screeched. He looked over at the girl, who had two competing expressions vying for dominance on her face: shock and amusement. Needless to say, amusement won out.

"You have no eyebrows!" she exclaimed as she doubled over in laughter.

Draco touched his face, feeling where the hair used to be. Yes, indeed. Draco Malfoy was now sans eyebrows. If anyone had thought that he was an albino before, they would be positive of it now.

"You stupid bint!" he growled.

Ginny's laughter only seemed to intensify. "Settle down, Malfoy. I can fix it," she said between hiccups of laughter. "I worked at Fred and George's joke shop over the summer. A lot of their experiments resulted in the loss of eyebrows, so they taught me this spell my second day working there."

The redhead laughed out a short spell, and Draco's eyebrow grew back, albeit darker.

"Give me a mirror!" he demanded.

Ginny shook her head, still giggling. "No, I can lighten the colour," she promised, as she continued snickering.

Draco proceeded to rant and rave, shouting out expletives at the top of his lungs, as the redhead experimented with his face. After a few more attempts and rumbling belly laughter from Ginny, she had managed to fix him up as good as new.

"What's the matter now, Malfoy?" she asked, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"My face hurts, and I'm bloody hungry!" he sulked.

She placed her hands on her hips in exasperation. "The stove's on. You can cook whatever you like now—well, whatever there is in stock."

Draco's sulk intensified.

"What?" she asked again, confused as to why he wasn't doing anything about his hunger.

"I don't know how to cook," he muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"You heard me, Weasley," he said moodily.

Ginny let out a short laugh. "I can show you how to make pancakes," she offered, as she walked over to the pantry to gather the ingredients.

Ginny then proceeded to demonstrate to Draco how pancakes were made. It was a painful process, fraught with flour, syrup, burning pans, and shouting matches. But after fifteen minutes, they both had managed to seat themselves in front a plateful of pancakes—prepared by them both! Draco dug in, looking famished and oddly smug, and shovelled the pastry into his mouth. Just as quickly though, the smug look turned sour, and he spit his pancake out, right onto Ginny's cheek.

"This is horrible!" he exclaimed, still spitting out pancake bits.

Ginny wiped the pancake off her face with an equal look of disgust, glaring rather menacingly at the blond. "It's made with powdered milk," she explained, still rubbing at her cheek. "What did you expect?"

"Something edible," he retorted, turning his palms upward. "I assumed that since you were poor you could make inedible things _edible_." He stared down at his plate with disdain.

She rolled her eyes. "Well, you assumed wrong. I do the best with what I have." She brought her fork down onto her plate and looked pointedly at him. "Besides, beggars can't be choosers, Malfoy."

Draco scowled, and Ginny offered him a feigned smile as she stood up and threw her napkin onto her plate. "You can clean up while I go do something," she said. It was more of an order than a suggestion.

"Clean up?" he asked, eyes widened and looking slightly confused. "I haven't a wand—or have you forgot?"

Ginny smirked. "No, I haven't forgot." She then walked over to the sinks and used her wand to fill one sink with hot, soapy water and the other with cold water. "Here," she said, as she picked up a dishcloth and tossed it at Draco, who caught it, looking up at her with a mild sort of panic briefly registering in his dark, grey eyes.

"Wait," he called out, as she went to leave the kitchen. "Can't you help me? I-I don't know what to do here."

Ginny raised an eyebrow and smirked at his ignorance. "Stick the dirty dishes in the soapy water and use that dishcloth there to clean all the pancake bits off them." She mimicked the motion with her hands as if she were directing a moron. "Then place them in the clean water to rinse off the bubbles and set it on that rack to dry." She pointed to a rack on the counter beside the sink.

Draco made a face and tried to hand her back the dishcloth. "You do this. I'll be rubbish at it. You have experience with domestic work."

"Just do it, Malfoy," she ordered darkly, and then left him alone to clean the dirty dishes.

**xXx**


	4. Mobility Issues

**Anywhere Else But Here**

**Chapter 4 – Mobility Issues**

After finishing the unmanly and undignified household chore, Draco trudged back up the stairs to the fourth floor to his room. He glanced across the hall to see that the light in the Weasley girl's room was off. Instead, there was a dim light shining from underneath the door at the end of the hall. Suddenly, the door opened and out stepped Ginny.

"I drew you a bath," she stated awkwardly, looking uncomfortable.

Draco slowly walked towards the toilet, his brow knitting in confusion and apprehension. The girl had lit his eyebrows on fire not some twenty minutes ago. What was she up to now? And, while I suspect that Draco was rather rank, it really was rather unexpected of the girl to go to the trouble of drawing him a bath. I swear I could see the faintest tinge of pink grace his alabaster cheeks. It was almost cute. _Almost_.

Draco looked at her askance, his brow prominently creased, and eyed her warily as if she were executing a trick. It was obvious that he had trust issues, as well as etiquette issues, for he merely stepped past her and entered the room. Ginny's jaw most assuredly dropped to the floor in shock as he closed the door behind him.

This—_this_—was the part of the assignment that I abhorred. I mean, honestly, why could I have not watched the Weasley girl bathe? Really, I had to watch Draco wash h-his _manly_ bits? The horror, I tell you! The horror! Why is it that no wizard invented a means to fast-forward through memories or at least give the option to close one's eyes during disturbing scenes? I swear that I am now scarred for life! So, to fast-forward for _your_ benefit—you lucky sod—Draco finished his bath and returned to his room. At least that was his plan. Before he could make it inside, however, the Weasley girl (whose female bits I would have rather seen) had accosted him. Well, I suppose she hadn't really 'accosted' him, but I know that I wouldn't have been too pleased if I were cornered, half-naked, by a pretty girl—at least one who didn't like me. Draco definitely didn't seem thrilled by the act either.

"How was the bath?" she asked, oblivious to the towel that he had draped around his midsection.

Draco held the towel with one hand while he raised the other in the air in obvious frustration. "Weasley, I'm in a bloody towel! Could the conversation wait until I'm fully dressed?"

"Oh. Right," she said, not once blushing as he awkwardly stepped past her and entered his room.

Draco slammed the door in front of her face, again, and discarded his towel. Once he began to dress, he felt his energy return to him. The meal and the bath had really restored his constitution and, instead of going to bed, he decided to go down to the drawing room to read. When he opened his door to leave, however, Ginny was standing there, right in front of him—waiting.

"Yes, Weasley?" he asked, irritated, ruffling his fingers through his damp fringe.

"So, how was the bath?" she asked again, impatiently.

Draco folded his arms across his chest in that smug manner of his. "Not nearly warm enough, why?"

This was _not_ the answer she wanted to hear. What a stupid boy. Tsk. Draco had so much to learn about women.

"You are such a selfish, unappreciative git!" the girl screamed at him all of a sudden.

Draco recoiled at her tone and took a hesitant step back. "Pardon me?" he asked, blinking rapidly—very, _very_ confused. Was it already that phase of the moon?

"You heard me!" she roared back at him. "I cooked for you and drew you a bloody bath, and all you have done is complain! You should be thanking me!"

"_Thanking_ you?" he asked, and then began to cough, choking on his own phlegm. "Thanking you for _what_, Weasley—for allowing me to starve for the past three days and then feed me unpalatable tripe, not to mention the ice cold bath that you drew for me to freeze to death in?"

Ginny made to speak again, but Draco ignored her and pushed past her, out the door, heading for the stairs. He wasn't going to stand there and have some poor, ruddy Weasley lecture him. He was the victim, not she (at least, that was probably the thought that was going through his mind).

"Why, you ungrateful ponce!" she called out after him, grabbing his arm from behind.

He turned around at the zenith of the stairs, quickly freeing his arm from her tenacious grip. "Don't you dare touch me, blood traitor!" he spat, spittle flying.

That was the last straw, the last insult. So, she struck without thought, without warning.

"Go to Hell, Malfoy!"

Maybe she didn't mean to do it; maybe she did. Either way, the tactile pleasure of reaching forward to push Draco back with a violent burst of energy must have been tremendously satisfying, but it was altogether fleeting. She had, purposely or not, sent the blond tumbling down the stairs and watched in abject amazement as he toppled down the stairs like a ragdoll. The echo of bone connecting with solid wood followed by the sickening sound of something snapping in half jarred her eardrums, making her wince in sympathy pain.

When he finally stopped moving, she paused, silent. Perhaps seeing Draco lying prone on the stairs with his right leg bent at a sickly angle had taken the wind out of her sails, for she just dumbly stood at the top of the landing in state of shock, horrified by what she had done. Whether or not she felt guilty about it, her actions had brought a halt to their bickering. I guess there's not much fun in yelling at an unconscious one-legged-functioning boy. Well, not _enough_ fun anyway. It would be much more entertaining if he were conscious.

Draco slowly stirred, groaning as he brought a hand to his head. He looked around and saw that he was at the bottom of the stairs leading to the second floor. He glanced up and saw the Weasley girl making her way down towards him, gawking at him with those wide, doe-like eyes of hers. He glared at her and then shook his head, clearing his throat and attempting to reprimand her as he rose to his feet. This wasn't going to happen though. Instead, a sudden jolt of pain went up his leg all the way to his spine and a blood-curdling scream erupted from his lips as he came crashing back down onto the stairs. It was obvious that he was in too much shock to recognise that he had been badly hurt, for not once did he throw a tantrum or cry like a little girl. He did, however, fully realise that Ginny was to blame for his fall, and his eyes lit up with fire.

"My leg!" he cried, as his lips curled into a ferocious sneer. "You stupid—"

"Malfoy, I wouldn't finish that sentence unless you want me to break the other leg," the girl threatened, cutting him off—the fire having returned to her eyes as well.

Ginny finally made it down beside Draco, who was clutching onto his injured leg in pain. She knelt down and drew a hissed breath between her teeth, wincing at the mangled appearance of his right shin. The look on the Weasley girl's face registered the reality of the situation at hand for Draco, and, suddenly, it all began to sink in—bringing the water-works with it.

"You broke my bloody leg, Weasley!" he cried, holding onto his shin as he rolled around on his back like a beached whale. (I will give him credit that he wasn't _literally_ crying, but he did paint a rather pathetic picture).

"Just sit still," she ordered, pulling out her wand and trying to overpower his larger mass. "I will try to set it."

"Set it?" he cried, trepidation ringing in his voice, as he eyed her wand with a kind of poorly masked hysteria.

The redhead began to poke and prod at his injured leg, muttering several minor and inapplicable Healing spells. Honestly, it was rather appalling to see her attempt to Heal him. I hope her dream was never to be a mediwitch—now a butcher, on the other hand...

"Argh!" Draco screamed, as Ginny managed to reset his leg and began to bandage it (yes, bandage, _not_ cast). "Are you trying to break the bloody thing off, witch?" he barked at her, feebly attempting to slap away her hand.

She slapped his hand back in return, causing him to recoil at her touch and look up at her with caged eyes full of venom. She went back to work on his leg with her wand, and he let his head fall back and bounce off the hardwood step.

"You are some piece of work, Weasley," Draco growled. "Why not just use your hands? They're bound to be gentler than your bloody atrocious wandwork."

Ginny growled back and bent over him, sticking the tip of her wand right underneath his chin, forcing him to look directly into her eyes.

"You say 'bloody' one more time, Malfoy, and I'll give you some blood to whinge on about!"

Draco's eyes momentarily widened, but his look of shock was quickly replaced with anger—yes, seething rage is something that _everyone_ can work with. He let his temper simmer, allowing himself to cool down. After a few more pokes and prods at his leg, however, his ire began to rise once more.

"Blo—Merlin, Weasley, do you know what you're doing?" he asked, somewhat nervous to hear her reply.

"Kind of," she answered, frowning, her eyes fixed on his leg.

"_Kind of_?" he repeated, drawing his aching leg away in dawning horror. The girl knew absolutely nothing about Healing.

"Sit still!" she barked at him, unceremoniously tugging his broken leg forward, eliciting a sharp yell. "Stop fidgeting!" After some more squabbling, she finally helped him to a sitting position so that he could examine her handiwork.

"This is mediocre!" he exclaimed with obvious frustration. "It will take weeks for this to heal, and I'm not even sure if it will mend properly. It would have been better if a bl—if a stupid Muggle had fixed it." He glared up at her with his silver eyes, and the redhead glared right back.

"Healing is not my forte, all right?" she said defensively. "Just be grateful that I even bothered to help you."

Draco let out an inelegant snort. "Should I be thankful for you 'helping' me down the stairs as well?"

"Yes, now shut up!" she spat back at him, and stood up. "I'm going to take you down into the drawing room. It will be easier for me to carry you there."

Draco tilted his head and looked at her askance. "You mean because you already knocked me down several flights of stairs?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Yes, gravity has determined where you will be sleeping tonight."

"Gravity looks a lot like an annoying red-haired Weasley," he commented, sulking.

She brought her hands to her slim hips and raised a red eyebrow. "Keep complaining, Malfoy, and I can leave you here to sleep on the stairs."

**xXx**

Draco was laid up in the drawing room for a day-and-a-half. Unable to move around on his own, he was forced to sleep and eat there—only being escorted to and from the second floor toilet by the Weasley girl. Luckily, the room had many books and lots of light spilling in from the several large windows that overlooked the street in front of the house. There was also a massive fireplace to the right of his sofa-cum-bed, which was flanked by two ornate glass-fronted cabinets. Beside those was an entire wall covered with a tapestry of the Black family tree. If the room hadn't been so dingy, he might have appreciated its subtle elegance. Right now, though, he didn't care about the décor. Right now, he was hungry and thirsty. Right now, he had other matters on his mind.

"She who is poor should have a keen sense of hospitality and bear a domestic disposition, do you not agree?" he called out loudly, knowing that Ginny was listening. He had been listing, at the top of his lungs, all the domestic and womanly virtues that the Weasley girl lacked.

"Malfoy..." she called warningly, from the top of the stairs.

"I realise that these sentiments obviously do not apply to you, oh Queen of Vagabonds."

"Malfoy—"

"Honestly, Weasley, I had no idea that you had been so quickly cut from your mother's apron strings!" he exclaimed in mock disbelief.

"Malfoy!" she yelled, coming down from the landing and into the drawing room.

Draco greeted her with a smirk, which she returned with a scowl. "Ah, Weasley, so nice of you to come when I call for you."

"What do you want?" she asked, irritated, looking as though she was about to hex him into oblivion.

"I have been calling you for almost five minutes," he answered indignantly. "I need to use the loo."

Ginny rolled her eyes and lifted her arms towards the ceiling with obvious frustration. "Bloody hell!" she exclaimed, lowering her hands and fishing out her wand. "I wish a Patronus could be summoned without a wand. I'd much rather see _that_ come fetch me than have to listen to your bellowing."

"Yes, well, you could always give me your wand to use," he countered, smirking.

Ginny shook her head. "Not a chance."

"Was worth a try," he mumbled, and then began preparing himself to be escorted up the stairs.

"What _is_ your Patronus anyway?" she asked, her curiosity getting the best of her. They had been alone together for almost five days, and this was the first semi-civil conversation that they had yet had.

"What?" Draco asked, giving her that caged look again.

"I asked what your Patronus is," she repeated, shaking her red mane. "If you're afraid to reveal what yours is without me telling you mine, then I'll just tell you that my Patronus is a mare."

"A mare?" he questioned, evident shock registering on his face. "That's a rather large Patronus."

Ginny genuinely smiled—even if the smile was on the borderline of being smug. "Yes, and that means that I am very powerful and will smite you if you continue to cross me."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Right."

She leant on her right leg, looking him up and down. "So what is yours—a snake?"

"Funny, Weasley," he drawled, glaring up at her, failing to veil his disdain for the direction that their discussion was taking.

"No, seriously, what is it?" she pressed.

"I don't have to tell you!" he snapped back.

Ginny furrowed her brow. "No, you don't, but I'm curious. I told you what mine is. There's no harm in it." She leant forward, looking him straight in the eyes, and smirked. "So, if you want to use the toilet, tell me what annoying animal it is."

Draco cocked an eyebrow in the air (intrigued by her smirking abilities, I'm sure). "Are you sure _yours_ isn't an ass?"

Ginny let out a snort. "Funny, Malfoy." She tapped her wand against her arm. She was like a dog with a bone: relentless. "C'mon, fess up."

"I don't want to," he growled, trying to hold his temper (and his bladder, I might add).

"_C'mon_," she egged him on. "I bet it's a snake."

"It isn't a snake!" he snarled.

Ginny frowned. She was obviously trying to have a bit of fun with him, and he didn't want to play her game. "Okay. Alright then. Settle down," she instructed, and then cocked an eyebrow in the air. "Are you upset that it isn't a snake?"

Draco rolled his eyes and tried to stand up. "Would you get off the snake issue!" he yelled. "It's not a snake. It's not anything!" He stumbled back down onto the sofa and let out a long, laboured sigh, convinced that the only way he would be able to use the toilet was if he just admitted the painful truth. "I have never conjured a full-bodied Patronus."

Ginny opened her mouth and then closed it, swallowing somewhat awkwardly. "Oh..." She paused, searching for the right words. "Really?"

Draco let out another defeated sigh and sat up. "Really. Now bloody well drop the matter. I have to go to the loo—now!"

The redhead relented and took him upstairs. Once relieved—oh, yet _another_ joy of memory recall that I am forced to witness—Ginny was about to bring Draco back down into the drawing room and make her way towards the kitchen to prepare their afternoon tea when a familiar face greeted them both from the bottom of the landing.

"Kingsley!" Ginny cried, forgetting all formality (and that she was still holding onto Draco), and ran to great the Auror with a flying hug.

Draco fell to the floor in a painful and undignified heap, screaming about his leg, which caused Ginny to pause mid-leap and run back the stairs to help the poor boy up.

"Let go of me, Weasley!" Draco ordered, but she ignored him and slung his arm over her shoulder.

"You know, you can use magic to get him to and from places," Shacklebolt suggested behind an amused grin that he could not mask.

"Yeah, I was doing that earlier," she admitted, with flushed cheeks. "I just wasn't thinking properly."

"What, you weren't thinking properly just now or when you dropped me down the stairs for the _second_ time in less than two days?" Draco asked facetiously, hanging off her shoulder.

"Want to make it a third time?" Ginny asked threateningly, turning to stare him down.

Shacklebolt let out a soft chuckle and then snapped his fingers. "Kreacher, come help Mister Malfoy to a seat."

With a loud pop, a gangly-looking house-elf Apparated to Draco's side, grumbled loudly, and then Disapparated. Draco felt himself being gently lowered onto the large leather sofa in the drawing room with a disgusting house-elf looking up at him with large eyes and drooping ears.

"Is there anything else that the young Master requires?" the elf asked with apparent obsequiousness; however, it still looked and sounded rather bitter.

"I have Kreacher on loan for you both during your stay here," Shacklebolt stated, as he and Ginny entered the room.

"You haven't come to take us home?" Ginny asked, walking past the Auror and taking a seat on the sofa next to Draco.

"No. I'm afraid that it may take a few more days—or weeks—until we can put something together," he answered, staring intently at Draco's bandaged leg.

"Weeks?" she asked.

The Auror ignored her question and approached Draco with his wand drawn. Draco eyed the tall, dark wizard with trepidation, unsure of what he was going to do.

"So, what happened here?" Shacklebolt asked, pointing at Draco's leg with his wand.

Ginny and Draco briefly exchanged glances, and Draco let out a defeated sigh. "I fell," he answered blandly.

(Dear Merlin! Honestly, I felt like I was witnessing battered wife syndrome—where Draco was the wife).

"You fell?" Shacklebolt asked, sounding unconvinced, looking to Ginny for confirmation.

"Y-Yes, he fell down some stairs," she corroborated rather quickly and rather guiltily, I might add. "And I—I didn't know how to properly fix his leg." She swallowed nervously, stealing glances at Draco, who only looked directly at Shacklebolt.

The Auror nodded his head and put his wand to Draco shin. "May I correct this?" he asked, looking up at the blond.

Draco mutely nodded his head in acceptance, and Shacklebolt went to work on Draco's leg, correcting the botched job that Weasley had done on it and mending it anew. After he was done, Draco tested out his leg by swinging it outward. It still hurt, but nowhere nearly as bad as it had before.

"In a few days, it should be fully healed," Shacklebolt reassured him, rising to his feet. "Well, I had better get going. I have business to attend to." He looked down at the small house-elf, who was standing diligently at Draco's side. "Kreacher will cook and clean for you and other small tasks that you ask him to do. He will not, however, Apparate either of you out of this house, and he will not leave the house—at all—to do your bidding unless it is to come get Harry or anyone else in the Order if either of you are injured or in danger. He has been given strict orders by Harry—haven't you, Kreacher?"

The wretched-looking house-elf glowered at Shacklebolt and muttered loudly, alternating between shaking and nodding his head. "Potter is my new master," Kreacher spat, looking utterly devastated by this proclamation.

"The purpose Kreacher serves, on a grander scale, is as a part of your protection. As long as he is here, no dangerous spells can be permitted within the walls of this house. You cannot be harmed by dark magic." Shacklebolt's countenance grew dark. "However, this does not mean that you cannot be dragged out of here by Muggle force."

The Auror straightened his back, appearing satisfied that he could give them what little help that he could. He then turned his attention to the redhead and beckoned her forward with a flick of his wrist.

"Ginny, if I could speak with you for a moment out in the hallway."

She nodded and rose to follow. Once the two disappeared around the corner, Draco turned his head to look at the pitiful creature that stood before him. He could not use this house-elf to Apparate him out or send word to his family, but he could, perhaps, still use him to his advantage.

"Kreacher, will you do what I ask within the confines of this house?" he asked the house-elf in hushed tones.

Kreacher nodded his head vigorously, also keeping his voice low. "Yes, Master Malfoy. Kreacher would be honoured to serve a member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."

"Good," Draco said, smiling, pleased that this creature had loyalty towards him. "I would like you to do something for me." He looked around the room, to see if the Auror and the Weasley girl were close by. When he saw no sight of them, he leant forward. "Before Shacklebolt leaves this house, he will utter a spell or a password to exit. He does this in order to break a Confundus Charm. I want you to overhear what spell or phrase he uses and tell it to me when the Weasley girl is not around. Have you got that?"

"Yes, Master Malfoy," Kreacher said, nodding his head.

And, without further prompting, the house-elf disappeared with a loud crack. Now all Draco had to do was sit, wait, and scheme...

**xXx**

And this is a to-be-continued, 'cause I need to shuttle off and use the loo!

**xXx**


	5. Unexpected Guests

**Anywhere Else But Here**

**Chapter 5 – Unexpected Guests**

Once the Auror had left, a sense of normalcy returned to the manor—well, as normal as things could be for two mortal enemies housed together. Draco now had Kreacher at his disposal, and while he could not get the house-elf to deliver messages or do any sort of bidding for him outside the manor, the creature did serve him well _inside_. For the next two days, Draco and the dour-looking elf wreaked havoc upon Ginny's mental state.

Kreacher almost never left Draco's side—always at his constant disposal and more than willing to serve a member of the 'noble and illustrious' Black family. It was evident that Draco was using the house-elf to his advantage and for his own entertainment. His employment of Kreacher's services in his not-so-subtle attempts to torment his fellow 'hostage', however, would not go unpunished.

It should be noted that with Kreacher able to obtain fresh produce for the household, Draco and Ginny had become privy to edible, home-cooked meals. Well, Draco was. The house-elf made it a point to not cook for Ginny and when he did—at Draco's request—they were the most putrid dishes imaginable.

Draco never imagined the day he would be appreciative of a house-elf.

"What I would give to leave this house," Draco sighed dramatically to Kreacher, who stood stoically by his temporary master's side.

"Master Malfoy, Kreacher did manage to overhear that wretched Auror's password," the house-elf hinted with an unnerving slyness in both voice and demeanour.

And that Kreacher had—overheard the password, that is. Later that evening, when the Weasley girl had gone to bed, Kreacher had come to Draco with the coveted phrase. Unfortunately, it did Draco no good without a wand. He knew that in order for him to leave the manor, he would have to somehow steal Ginny's wand. So, he had Kreacher watch for any time she left it unattended, which, so far, was never.

"Yes, but it does me no good without a wand," Draco snapped at the awful-looking beast. "Are you sure Weasley never puts the thing down?"

The house-elf nodded his head, his long ears flapping up and down. "She has not left it around the house."

"What about in her room?" Draco asked hopefully.

"Kreacher is not allowed to enter locked doors without permission," the house-elf answered, a scowl plastered on his ugly face.

Draco rolled his head on the back of the chair and let out a protracted sigh. "Alright then. Go make me something to eat then—something with fish," he ordered, surrendering to his predicament, for now.

"Yes, young Master," Kreacher said, offering the blond an obsequious bow.

Before the house-elf could depart, Draco raised his hand as if to indicate that he wanted to add another order. "Oh, and, Kreacher, I'd like you to make something _special_ for Weasley," he added, offering a suggestive wink and smirk.

Kreacher offered Draco a dark grin, revealing crooked, rotted teeth. "Yes, Master Malfoy." The house-elf then disappeared with a crack.

Shortly thereafter, Ginny came down the stairs and entered the drawing area, noting the long table set up in the middle of the room. "Why's this here?" she asked, looking sceptically back and forth from the table to Draco's mischievous grin.

"I thought I'd set a dining table out here since I still can't move about the house too much," Draco explained nonchalantly, the smirk now removed from his face.

Ginny twisted her mouth into a grimace, unconvinced that setting a dinner table in the middle of the drawing room was done out of sheer mobility issues. For the past few days, Draco had been content to let Kreacher Apparate him to and from every part of the house. What did the location of the dinner table matter?

"Come, have a seat," Draco ordered. "I had Kreacher prepare us dinner." A charming smile flitted across his face, as he motioned for Ginny to take the seat at the end of the table.

Ginny let out a deep sigh and rubbed at her stomach, indicating that she was, indeed, hungry. She somewhat reluctantly obeyed and pulled out the chair at the end, sitting down with a look of unease on her oval face. After a minute, the house-elf reappeared, setting a silver-platter in front of Draco. When the creature lifted the lid, a wonderful aroma assailed both Draco and Ginny's nostrils. Kreacher had made an individual meal for Draco: lemon-glazed red salmon with wild rice and green beans.

"This looks wonderful, Kreacher," Draco stated with feigned appreciation, glancing down at the delectable meal in front of him.

Kreacher looked pleased with himself and bowed lowly to Draco. "You are very welcome, Master Malfoy."

Ginny rolled her eyes at the obvious act being performed in front of her. "Where's _my_ meal?" she asked, looking at the empty plate in front of her.

"Oh, where are my manners?" Draco said dramatically, and then beckoned the house-elf over. "Kreacher, would you serve Miss Weasley _her_ dinner?"

The pitiful thing nodded its large head. "Yes, Master." The house-elf then quickly Disapparated and, after a short minute, Apparated back with the redhead's meal.

Kreacher opened the lid, and the olfactory assault this time was far from pleasant: it was pungent.

"What is this?" Ginny asked, disgusted, turning her head and pushing the plate away. She quickly grabbed her napkin and placed in front of her mouth and nose.

On the plate was another fish dish, except this just had the head and the eyes of the fish, staring up at her with a wide-open mouth full of sharp teeth. It looked as though it had been kept out in the sun for days. Plus, it didn't appear to be cooked.

"This is your meal, Weasley," Draco answered in a regal tone, openly leering at her. "Are you not going to thank Kreacher and myself for having prepared it special for you? It should be to your liking."

The sound of a chair suddenly scraping backwards against the wooden floor caused Draco to flinch. The Weasley girl rose to her feet and threw down her napkin in anger.

"You are disgusting and childish!" she spat at him, slamming her fist down on the table in fury. She'd had enough of his pranks. "I am out of here!" She then pushed her chair out of her way and charged towards the entryway.

"Out of here?" Draco questioned with a laugh. "Where are you going to go, Weasley?"

"Away from you!" she yelled back at him, having already disappeared around the corner.

Draco heard the redhead stomp down the entryway, open the door and then slam shut. With a sigh, he got up and hobbled towards the window overlooking the streets. There was Ginny on the front step, looking about, dazed and confused.

"Stupid girl," Draco muttered aloud to no one in particular. "Now the bint is going to stumble back in here all befuddled."

It was true. Weasley did not know the secret password to break the Confundus Charm. She would be forced to re-enter the house positively confounded—in an ideal world. Most assuredly, bells and whistles had most likely gone off, with the cavalry soon arriving, putting all blame squarely on his Malfoy shoulders.

Draco shook his head and was about to turn around to take his seat at the table and wait for the Weasley girl to come stumbling back inside, when he noticed a man come from around the corner, boldly approaching the redhead.

"Bloody hell!" Draco cursed, jumping back out from beneath the view of the window. His hissed in pain as the jostling motion sent a jolt of pain up his wounded leg.

After a issuing a few more choice expletives, Draco inched his way back towards the window to see the mysterious stranger confront Ginny. The Weasley girl was undoubtedly caught. What was Draco going to do? He couldn't ask Kreacher to retrieve her—it was against the rules. Could he let her be dragged away by Death Eaters? Potter and the Order would certainly put all the blame on him for this. So, should he save her or should he let her be captured?

Draco quickly made his decision and muttered several loud profanities as he made his way out of the drawing room towards the entryway. As he hobbled towards the front door, he wondered how he was going to resolve this. He knew the password, but he didn't have a wand. How could he leave the manor without being Confunded? Could he even do this without a wand? Wandless magic isn't exactly extraordinary or rare. Simple spells and tasks—some that are even hard, like Apparition—can be done without the use of a wand. So, perhaps this could be done too. It was just a stupid password.

Concentrating hard, and feeling rather foolish, Draco focused all of his magic into the words that he was speaking aloud. He closed his eyes, put his hand on the door, and pushed it wide open, stepping outside. What brought Draco to do any of this is beyond my ability to properly speculate, but he did it, and—bloody hell—it was downright Gryffindor of him. When he finally opened his eyes, there was no confusion clouding them, nor was their any uncertainty in his mind. It was free. There, in front of him, was the Weasley girl, her hand being held by a man in uniform, sporting a rather peculiar-looking white cap that slanted to the side.

"What a bonnie lass," the strangely dressed man said, mindlessly oblivious to Draco's presence.

Perhaps he was confused too, but when the bloke staggered forward and hiccupped, Draco quickly sussed out that the man was no Death Eater—he was a blind-stinking drunk.

"What are you doing out at this end of the city all alone, pet?" the man—a sailor, I think—asked Ginny, petting the redhead's hand. "Would you like to come home with me?"

Weasley rubbed at the back of her neck with her other hand, looking downright lost. She turned away from the sailor and made a pathetic whining noise as she tried to direct herself back towards the house. That is when she saw Draco.

"Inside," she pouted, directing a pleading glance Draco's way, stretching out her free hand for him to take.

Draco frowned then scowled, reaching forward to grab her offered hand. He forcefully pulled her into him, glaring at the sailor, who had just now noticed his presence. "Shove off!" Draco ordered in a scathing tone, waving dismissively at the drunken man.

The sailor stumbled forward, looking apologetic. "Hey, listen, mate—I-I had no idea that she was your girl."

Draco's frown deepened, and he looked down at the redhead, who was whimpering loudly against his chest. "Yes, well..." He paused and looked up, sneering rather menacingly at the sailor. "Find another port of harbour, _mate_."

The sailor nodded his head and raised his hands defensively, taking several steps back. "Right, sorry about that, mate." He turned to tip his cap to Ginny, who was still being awkwardly cradled by Draco. "Miss."

Draco then glanced around furtively, looking to see if anyone else was nearby. Seeing no one, he turned, growled to himself, and then led Ginny back inside the house.

"Stupid girl," Draco muttered, dragging a still-stymied Ginny—who would not let go of him—towards the drawing room.

"What happened?" she asked, looking up at him with those big brown eyes of hers.

"I saved your life," he replied dryly, making her sit down on the sofa. "It was brilliant."

"Oh," she responded, flopping down on the sofa, yawning sleepily.

Draco leant forward, about to nip her wand from her pocket when she grabbed a hold of his arm and forced him to sit down besides her. Try as he might to free himself, she had a vice-like grip on his forearm and refused to let go. After a minute of feeble attempts to extricate himself from her tenacious hold, he relaxed, and then so did she—her eyelids languidly fluttering open and then closing shut.

"I'm going to go to sleep now," she announced, and then promptly lay down on the sofa, resting her head on his lap.

Draco stiffened, uncomfortable with such familiarity and proximity. "Here?" he asked tentatively.

"Here," she repeated, nuzzling her cheek into his thigh.

Draco cleared his throat and tried to reposition his hand so that it did not rest on her person. "Okay," he finally replied, weakly giving in.

After a while, Draco's eyelids, too, began to droop. He had apparently not fully escaped the effects of the Confundus Charm himself. He lurched forward, slowly sinking on top of the redhead with his arm fully resting on her side. Both fell into a deep sleep.

I have no idea how much time had passed, but both awoke to the shrieking sound of an alarm blaring throughout the house like a banshee wail. Draco sat up first, and the Weasley girl quickly followed suit.

"Harry!" Ginny called out, frightened and confused, as she grabbed Draco's arm and buried her face into his chest.

Draco was too alarmed to push her away for unabashedly calling him Harry and snuggling into him as though he were her lord and saviour.

"An intruder," he whispered, shakily standing to his feet as he pulled the redhead up and began to push her towards one of the large wooden cabinets near the window. "Wait here."

She nodded dumbly, still groggy, as Draco walked back over to the sofa, blinking back tears of tiredness. He saw Ginny's wand, which was sticking out from between one of the sofa cushions, and bent down to retrieve it. He then threw himself against the side of the wall that led towards the entryway. Boldly, with wand raised, he jumped out from around the corner. Without warning, he Disarmed the intruder and quickly fetching the assailant's wand off the floor. Panting somewhat heavily due to his exertions, Draco brought Ginny's wand back up to train it on the intruder while he stuffed his newly acquired weapon into his pocket. The smug smile that had started to form on his lips died instantly when he finally got a good look at the man in front of him.

Man—no, he was still a boy. He was tall and weedy-looking with a slender neck that showed every tendon. His height, which was formidable, was only intensified by his thinness, and while he may have appeared weakly built, he carried himself high, strong and proud.

"Nott?" Draco asked, dumbfounded, his wand still poised at the fellow Slytherin's face.

"Malfoy," Theodore Nott greeted back calmly—too calmly. "Good to see that you are doing well."

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked, still getting over his initial shock. He still refused to lower his wand.

"I could ask you the same," Nott replied with astuteness behind his sharp blue eyes. "I was sent here, to this area."

"Sent here—by whom?" Draco asked suspiciously.

At that moment, Ginny rounded the corner, saddling up beside Draco and silently sliding her hand into his, hiding behind him. She looked up at Nott with open curiosity, burying her face into Draco's back.

A sly and knowing grin touched Nott's lips as he observed this unusual display. "I was sent here by someone we both know," he answered cryptically. "I wasn't made aware of this place at all until I saw some sailor accost a redhead—Weasley here—and then you came outside to her rescue." Nott smirked at Draco, who only scowled back. "I watched you both sneak back inside, and then I waited until the traffic around the house had subsided before I tried to enter."

Draco finally lowered his wand and let out a sigh. He looked over his shoulder at Ginny disdainfully and ripped his hand out of hers. He then looked back at Nott and offered him a defensive look. "This is not what it looks like."

Nott raised a thin eyebrow. "Really?" he questioned in a mocking tone. "Then what does 'this' look like, Draco?"

Draco growled. "Shut up."

Nott's smirk intensified, and he then glanced over at the Weasley girl, regarding her closely, with intelligent eyes. "Is she okay?" he asked, noticing the spacey looks that she was giving—that, and she was trying to hold Draco's hand again.

"She was hit with a Confundus Charm," Draco explained, impatiently shooing away the offending hand.

"Would you like me to fix that?" Nott offered, shocking Draco in more ways than one—one of those ways being that Theodore Nott had never stuck his neck out for anyone. Ever.

"No offence, Theo, but I am not going to give you your wand back," Draco said, gripping his 'stolen' wand even tighter.

Nott smiled. "That's not my wand."

Draco raised a pale eyebrow, confused. "What?"

Nott's grin widened; his expression was almost patronising. "Honestly, Draco, do you think I'd enter a strange house carrying my own wand?" he asked with a derisive laugh. "What would be the point in automatically losing it?"

"What?" Draco asked, lost by Nott's reasoning.

"This is Millicent's wand," Nott answered as an offer of explanation, and placation.

"You stole it off her?"

"No."

"You borrowed it?"

"No."

Draco gnashed his teeth, frustrated. "Theo, quit being so damn vague!"

The weedy boy smirked. "I'm not being vague—I'm being evasive."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Just do the bloody spell. I want her to stop holding my hand."

Just then, Ginny put her hand in Draco's again—much to the blond's chagrin—and Nott looked as though he was about to crack a genuine smile when he reached into his pocket to withdraw a second wand, his own wand. After a few complicated wandstrokes, Ginny began to blink rapidly, as though coming out of a daze.

"Wha—?" she asked confusedly, and then looked down at her fingers, which were interlaced with Draco's. She quickly retracted them, as though they were on fire, and stumbled back several feet from Draco and Nott, who both smirked at her. "What happened?"

"You left the house and fell under the Confundus Charm," Draco explained, as a matter-of-fact.

Ginny's eyes lit with remembrance—sort of. "Oh, right…" She paused, and then worried her bottom lip with her teeth. "But, how—how did I get back inside?"

Draco turned his head and glanced up at Nott, who was grinning toothily (honestly, I have never known the dour boy to look so…animated) as he holstered his wand.

"Nott here can fill you in on the details. I am leaving." And with that announcement, Draco turned past the both of them and headed towards the door.

"Malfoy, you can't leave!" Ginny called out suddenly, from behind.

Draco turned at the door. "I'm not staying here, Weasley," he explained, as though he was conversing with a child. "_He_ got through." He gestured towards Nott with a jerk of his head. "So will the rest." He sighed in defeat and then stepped forward, handing Ginny back her wand. "Listen, you should be safe here. Someone from the Order is bound to be here shortly."

Ginny dumbly reached out to retrieve her wand while Draco took out Nott's (er, Bulstrode's).

"Draco…" Nott began.

Draco shook his head, determined. "Theo, I suggest you get out of here too before you're caught. You can come with me, and I'll concoct some sort of explanation to give to my aunt."

Nott remained stationary. "I'm not going anywhere, I'm afraid. I'm to meet someone here."

Draco furrowed his brow. "Meet someone?"

Nott nodded his head.

"Who?"

"_Me_."

Draco turned around, coming face-to-face with none other than the infamous Harry Potter.

**xXx**


	6. The Wheel Has Come Full Circle

**Anywhere Else But Here**

**Chapter 6 – The Wheel Has Come Full Circle**

Draco turned around, coming face-to-face with none other than the infamous Harry Potter.

(Flashback humour. Brilliant.)

"He was waiting for _me_, Malfoy," Potter clarified, staring Draco down, "and _you_ aren't going anywhere."

Draco sneered at Potter's feeble threat, ready to open his mouth to issue a scathing retort, when he saw a blur of a colour and felt a sudden breeze waft past him.

"Harry!" Ginny cried, flying past Draco to give her bespectacled _ex_-boyfriend a hug.

"Ginny!" Potter caught the redhead and held her in his arms as the door closed behind, effectively shoving Draco to the side. "It's so good to see you. You okay?"

She nodded, smiling foolishly. "I'm doing well. You?"

"Been better," he replied, returning her smile, and then hugging Ginny even tighter.

Draco observed the nauseating display between the two Gryffindors with a mixed look of disgust and anger. I would have felt like vomiting, myself, if I had witnessed such a sickly display, but Draco looked more than annoyed with Potter; he actually appeared to be jealous. Granted, Draco could be an envious lad, but jealous? No. Jealous of what?

"Potter," Nott said, interrupting the heart-warming reunion of the embracing couple (and much to Draco's relief, I'm sure).

Potter let go of Ginny and took a step past her, to greet the weedy-looking Slytherin. "Nott," he said slowly, walking towards him, "you were _supposed_ to meet me outside."

Nott tilted his head to the side and raised his palms upwards. "Yes, well, I saw the opportunity to enter."

Potter let a wry grin pass over his face, which quickly vanished. He nodded his head at Nott and let out a sigh, seemingly accepting the Slytherin's terse explanation. The two exchanged meaningful glances, which were soon interrupted by the sound of the redhead clearing her throat.

"Harry," Ginny began, stepping beside a disgruntled-looking Draco. "How exactly did you know to come in?"

"I didn't, really," Potter confessed, turning to face her. "Kingsley had sent his Patronus to warn me that the alarm had gone off at the house." He shrugged. "I came as quickly as I could."

"Sorry about that," Ginny murmured sheepishly, knowing that she was the cause for the first alarm. "That was just..." She paused, sneaking a glance at Draco through the corner of her eye, then focusing her attention on Potter, whose brow was knit in worry and confusion. "A misunderstanding." She waved her hand dismissively and smiled, clearing her throat. "So, how are Ron and Hermione?"

Potter flinched and smiled uncomfortably. "Uh, good," he answered, shifting on his feet. He glanced back at Nott, who was waiting patiently in the corner, then turned back to face Ginny. "Ginny, uh, look, we'll have to catch up a bit later." His smile was strained as he pointed his thumb over his shoulder. "I need to talk with Nott about a few things."

Ginny nodded her head emphatically. "Of course."

Harry clasped his hands in front of him. "Great. I promise I'll be right back."

Then both he and Nott took off towards the basement, disappearing down the set of stairs off the entryway. Draco and Ginny watched them go, in silence, until Draco let out an elegant snort and stepped past the redhead.

"So, Nott's in thick with Potter?" Draco mumbled to himself, as he wandered down the hallway. "I never saw that coming."

There was no point in him trying to escape now, not with Potter there—and with Nott being a supposed double agent.

"Neither did I," Ginny agreed, stepping in line with Draco as they both walked towards the drawing room. "He always appeared to be such a solitary bloke."

"He was—_is_," Draco corrected himself, frowning. "Very clever and independent, he is—never needs anyone's help."

Ginny uttered some non-committal sound and took a seat on the sofa—the one upon which they had been so cosily curled up together not so long ago. "Well, if he's a spy, then that should work out in your favour."

Draco dropped down beside her, placing his hands on his lap. "How do you figure?"

Ginny shrugged her shoulders. "It's not like he's going to rat you out, 'cause you could easily give him up too."

Draco pondered her statement for a moment then raised an eyebrow in contemplation. "That's quite Slytherin of you to think that way," he finally commented, an impressed grin forming on his face.

Ginny smirked back. "I have my moments," she stated, casting her eyes down in a faux haughty manner. "Maybe I have been hanging around with you for too long."

"Maybe," he agreed.

An awkward silence hung in the air, and neither Draco nor Ginny dared to look at the other. They were actually having a civil conversation.

"So, should I be worried for my safety now?" Ginny asked unexpectedly, breaking the tension.

Draco turned to regard her with curiosity. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you have a wand now," she answered, pointing to the potential weapon in Draco's hand.

He looked down thoughtfully at the wand and shrugged. "As long as you don't push me down another flight of stairs or light my eyebrows on fire, you should be fairly safe."

Ginny let out a short laugh. "Good to know."

It was odd that Potter had not seen the wand in Draco's hand. Maybe he hadn't noticed it. In any case, Draco needed to hide the thing fast, lest it be taken from him. The redhead seemed to have figured this out as well, for she moved to the side and pulled up one of the sofa cushions.

"I promise not to tell, if you promise not to hex me," she said, offering him a wink.

Draco blinked several times, nonplussed. Perhaps the Weasley girl had remembered more about what had happened after she left the house than she had been letting on. After a moment's hesitation, he dropped the wand down the side of the sofa, and the redhead winked at him, quietly giggling. As the minutes ticked by, Draco and Ginny sat together in a comfortable silence this time. However, Draco could no longer stand the suspense. He had to know what Potter and Nott were talking about.

"Malfoy!" Ginny hissed, as she watched Draco get up and slink towards the basement. "Where are you going?"

"Guess!" he whispered back.

He made his way to the entryway then hunched over, sneaking his way down the stairs into the basement. When he finally made it down into the opening of the cavernous room, Draco could see Potter and Nott standing in the kitchen, having an animated discussion. Unseen by either boy, Draco crept closer and closer until he could pick up the tail end of their conversation.

"She's a slag—a girl who'd give it up to anyone," Potter whispered in a hiss.

Draco's eyebrows shot up in shock. Did Potter just call his girlfriend a slag?

"Weasley?" Nott asked, sounding none-too-convinced.

"Sure," Potter replied. "Ginny's snogged just about every bloke her age and older—doesn't matter what house either. She's dated a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff. It wouldn't be impossible to imagine that she'd let someone like Malfoy get into her knickers." He shrugged his shoulders. "And you know Malfoy—he'd use her, for sport _and_ information."

Now, I'm not entirely certain what was going through Draco's head at that particular moment, but the look on his face as Potter went on about how Ginny was some common whore was all that I needed to see. Draco wanted Potter's head. The simple fact of the matter is that he was offended. Draco Malfoy was offended that Harry Potter was besmirching the name of Ginny Weasley, a girl who was supposed to have been his girlfriend—a girl that Draco shouldn't have cared about. She was a blood traitor, poor, and no friend of his. So why did Draco care? Maybe—just maybe—Draco had come to see Ginny as a friend. Or maybe Draco just wanted to put Potter in his place. Whatever the case may be, the end result was inevitable.

"Hey, Potter!" Draco called out, stepping out from behind Potter.

The so-called Chosen One turned around in surprise. Draco smirked at his advantage of surprise and drew back his fist, swiftly cold-cocking the Gryffindor square between the eyes.

To my knowledge, Draco had never physically hit someone before, and from what I could tell by the way he shook out his right hand and cursed in pain, he wasn't exactly a 'pro' at it. Honestly, this was a first for me—to see someone like Draco defending the honour of Ginny Weasley, a blood traitor. It was mind-boggling. There was no reason, no explanation, no ulterior motive. He just acted impulsively, like a Gryffindor—again! Maybe Ginny was starting to rub off on him. However, before _any_ of this could properly register in Draco's head, or before he could acknowledge the satisfaction he felt by punching Potter in the face, a right hook met Draco's jaw, and he fell to the floor in a crumpled heap.

"Malfoy, you stupid git! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Potter bellowed, his green eyes flashing with anger as he stood over the blond.

Draco looked up for a second to see the Weasley girl standing at the bottom of the stairs, her mouth wide open in shock. Draco glanced back up at Potter, who looked equally confused, and then Draco let out a blood-curdling cry as he launched himself to his feet and tackled Potter—tackled him! Nott, standing far back, out of harm's way, must have been watching the entire scene unfold in front of him with a slight bit of amusement. I know I was amused.

Draco and Potter continued to roll around on the floor—punching, kicking, clawing, and cursing. Fists, blood, and hair were flying. At first, it was unclear who had the upper hand. Quickly, though, Potter managed to roll Draco onto his back and began assailing his nemesis with clenched fists, beating him down until Draco's face was bloodied and bruised. As soon as Draco went slack, Potter stopped and jumped off him, breathing heavily as he stood to his feet. He, too, was bloody, but not nearly as mangled as Draco. Sadly, Potter was definitely victorious this round.

And here is where the wheel comes full circle.

Draco pushed himself back up onto his knees, wiping the blood from his nose and chin. He glanced up to see the Weasley girl, to see the unmistakable fire in her eyes as she stood only a few feet from him. Her right arm was outstretched, and her fingers were wrapped tightly around her wand. She was livid. She was out for his blood. Draco watched her take aim, and he closed his eyes—waiting. He knew it was inevitable: her wrath. She was going to hex him for attacking her boyfriend, and there was nothing he could do about it. He listened as she performed her patented Bat-Bogey Hex, and he opened his eyes, expectant. Nothing.

She hadn't aimed her wand at Draco. No. She had aimed it at _Potter_.

Draco looked up to see the Potter staggering backwards, swatting away at large, bat-winged bogies—much like how Draco had done in his fifth year. If Draco weren't so bewildered as to why the redhead had attacked her own boyfriend, he would have been laughing.

"Ginny, what—" Potter began, trying desperately to shoo away the bogies, while Nott regarded the whole incident with a sort of restrained amusement.

"Don't 'Ginny' me!" she roared back, lowering her wand. "Don't think that I didn't hear every single word you just said about me, Harry James Potter!" Her countenance darkened. "I am not some whore—some girl who gives it up to anyone with a pulse. And if I were to give it up to anyone, I'd let Malfoy have a go before I'd ever let you!"

"Ginny, wait!" Potter called out, trying to walk towards her but unable to see beyond the swarm of bogies.

Ginny ignored him and went over to where Draco knelt—holding his bloodied nose—and she offered him her hand. "C'mon, Malfoy. Let's get you cleaned up."

Still in a state of shock, Draco took her hand and let her help him to his feet. She then went to lead him out of the basement, passing Nott along the way.

"Nott," Ginny said threateningly, raising her wand, ready to smite the poor lad if he should dare try to stop her.

Nott raised his hands in mock surrender and stepped to the side, allowing the redhead to pass. When Draco and Ginny finally made it into the drawing room, Ginny made to fix Draco's wounds, but he quickly remembered how 'gifted' the redhead was at Healing and flinched at her touch.

"'Ere, 'immy," he said nasally, as he grabbed her wand and began to fix his face, siphoning the blood.

After he was done, he handed her back her wand, and she smiled. He shook his head and glowered, angry that she was helping him, being nice to him, smiling at him. It was unnatural. He had to set things right. He didn't need the little Gryffindor having the wrong impression about him and what happened between he and Potter in the basement.

"I'll have you know that I wasn't defending your honour with my fists, Weasley," Draco stated haughtily—well, at least he had tried to come off as arrogant, but he ended up sounding more defensive than anything.

"Yeah, I know," she agreed, sounding none-too-convinced, as a devilish grin played across her face. "You were defending it with your _face_."

Draco's glare intensified. "It wasn't what it looked like."

Ginny locked eyes with him, and her grin intensified. "I saw and heard the whole thing, Malfoy." She then looked down at her hands on her lap, and a slight blush formed on the apple of her cheeks. "And I know that it was _you_ who saved me from that sailor and brought me back into the house," she confessed and then shook her head, attempting to look serious. "But if you want to safeguard your masculinity and your reputation as a Weasley hater, I won't tell a soul."

Draco pursed his lips and frowned. "Yes, well…" He paused, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "Thank you."

The blush returned to Ginny's cheeks. "Thank you."

They both stared at each other, neither one willing to speak up first. Luckily, the silence was broken for them.

"Ginny?" Potter called out hesitantly, slowly rounding the corner.

Draco and Ginny instantly jumped apart, as though attacked by hot pokers. Upon seeing Potter sheepishly enter the room—sans bogies—Ginny straightened her back and lifted her proud chin in the air, turning her small nose up at him.

"Harry, I'm not talking to you," she stated haughtily. "In fact, I'm ignoring you. When everything is safe, and it is time for me to leave here, I would like Kingsley or Remus to come get me."

Ooh, what an ego. Her voice and mannerisms were so much akin to the princely Malfoy's that I was almost convinced that Ginny was Draco's long-lost ginger twin. Potter, however, didn't notice or appreciate the Weasley girl's newly acquired regal tones. Instead, his sappy face fell in self-pity.

"Ginny, please," he began, but Ginny turned away, facing Draco.

Draco, I'm sure, was internally giddy at the turn of events against Potter. However, before he could act upon this with pithy comments directed at Potter, Nott had to go ruin all the potential fun with logic and understanding. Spoilsport.

"Weasley, I think you should let Potter explain," Nott said, coming out from behind the corner (and coming to Potter's aid, I might add—what kind of Slytherin is he, I ask!).

"What has he got to explain—how much of a ponce he is?" Draco bitterly interjected, still stinging from the thrashing that Potter had given him.

"Malfoy—" Potter warned.

"Harry—" Ginny threatened just as menacingly—if not more so.

Potter turned to look at the redhead pleadingly. "Ginny, just listen."

Ginny turned around to face him, crossing her arms over her chest and staring at the boy coldly. "Okay," she said through gritted teeth. "I'm listening."

Potter approached her with trepidation, holding out his hands in surrender. "What you heard—what you _both_ overheard was a rumour that I wanted Nott to perpetuate amongst the other Slytherins at Hogwarts."

"Rumour?" Ginny asked, unconvinced.

Draco's brow creased, his eyes narrowing on the green-eyed boy. He wasn't going to buy it. "Why?"

"It's part of your cover story," Potter answered bluntly.

Draco sneered. "Cover story?"

"In order to allow you to return home without censure," Nott explained, stepping out from the shadows.

"How?" Draco asked, raising a brow. He was quickly turning into a man of few words—words ending in question marks.

Potter let out an irritated sigh. "To explain _why_ you took Ginny off the train, you are going to have to tell the others that you were dating her in order to find _my_ whereabouts—and the Order's."

Ginny and Draco's mouths dropped open simultaneously.

"We wanted to play up the idea that Weasley was morally questionable and that you were easily able to seduce her—to obtain information for the 'Cause'," Nott explained, using the index and middle fingers on both hands to emphasis the Dark Lord's cause.

"But what if my aunt or the Dark Lord were to question me?" Draco asked. "They would know the truth."

Nott shook his head. "Not if we were to erase or alter some of your memories."

"Erase his memories?" Ginny asked, sitting up in her seat. "But that's permanent."

Potter and Nott exchanged meaningful glances. "Not if you extract them first then store them," Nott elucidated. "Afterwards, if you wanted to—if we needed to—we could restore Draco's memories."

"If 'we' needed to?" Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes. Then the reality behind the implications sunk in, and he sat up straight, a million thoughts racing through his head. "So, you would erase my time spent here and replace my memories with what, exactly?" He looked directly at Potter.

"Spending time with Ginny, trying to learn the Order's secrets," Potter answered, casting a nervous glance Ginny's way before he turned back to face Draco. "We would give you false ones to use—ones that they could believe."

"How could you possibly alter my memories so that I—so that I am seen doing things with Weasley here?" Draco asked with evident incredulity in his voice.

"We will be enlisting in the skills of a specialist," Potter explained, anxiously rubbing the back of his neck. "Honestly, the entire mechanics of memory extraction and fabrication are quite foreign to me, so I can't really tell you _how_ it would be done."

"I'm feeling quite confident right now," Draco remarked dryly.

Nott let out a strangled laugh, and Draco glared up at his friend. The clever boy merely lifted his hands and tried his best not to laugh outright.

"When will this 'specialist' be arriving?" Draco asked, trying to ignore Nott's failed attempt at maintaining his stoic façade.

"In a few days—a week, maybe," Potter answered, shrugging. "In the meantime, we need Nott here to spread the rumours around Hogwarts and have Death Eaters looking at other hotspots, drawing their attention _away_ from Grimmauld Place. Once the traffic here has died down, I will send Kingsley in with our specialist. It shouldn't be more than a week, hopefully."

"Hopefully?" Draco asked, his voice raising an octave, looking thoroughly annoyed.

Potter shook his head, ignoring Draco, and walked over to Ginny, sitting down beside her. "Listen, Ginny, I'm sorry that you heard me say what I did. You have to know that I never meant one word of it."

The redhead offered Potter a smile and put her hand on his. "I know, Harry. And I'm sorry too. I can be a bit impulsive at times."

"Like a true Gryffindor," Potter said, a big grin fastened on his face.

Potter then leant in, giving his girlfriend a hug, which caused Draco to scoot farther down the sofa, scowling something fierce. Potter then got up nodded to Nott, who nodded back. (Secrets! Bloody secrets! I wonder if this is typical double agent behaviour...)

"Sorry, Ginny, but I have to run," Potter said, turning back to look sheepishly at the redhead. "I have to meet up with Ron and Hermione."

Ginny nodded in understanding. "How's everything going—"

"Ah, good, good," Potter interrupted, looking furtively from Ginny to Draco to Nott, then back to Ginny. "I can't really talk about it." He offered her an apologetic smile and then jerked his head in Draco's direction. "You know."

Draco scowled at Potter's impertinence and then crossed his arms over his chest in annoyance, slumping back against the sofa in utter frustration and boredom.

A frown crossed Ginny's features, but she quickly dismissed it. "Yes," she agreed, and then feigned a smile. "Well, goodbye, Harry, and good luck." She stood up and embraced him again. "Give my love to Ron and Hermione."

"Will do," Potter promised, grinning foolishly. "Bye, Gin." He then cast a suspicious glance Draco's way and inclined his head ever so slightly. "Malfoy."

Draco rolled his eyes, effectively dismissing the Boy Who Lived, who only shook his head and walked past Nott, heading towards the door. Nott turned to follow Potter, but stopped abruptly at the threshold of the entryway. He slowly spun around, facing Draco, and offered the blond a clandestine grin.

"What?" Draco asked, wondering what the weedy boy was grinning about.

"Nothing," Nott answered, still grinning, as he inclined his head and turned away. "Good luck, Malfoy."

Nott and Potter then swiftly exited Grimmauld Place, leaving Draco and Ginny alone—again.

**xXx**

**Endnotes:** **The Wheel Has Come Full Circle** means '_matters are back to where they started_'. The line comes from King Lear (5, 3, 174). It is, perhaps, one of the first literary references to a more popular English idiom, 'to come full circle'.


	7. Expecto Patronum

**Anywhere Else But Here**

**Chapter 7 – Expecto Patronum**

"So what do you see in him, exactly?"

Ginny glanced up from her book to see Draco hovering above her. "Who?"

Scowling, Draco took the seat across from her, near the window. "Potter," he clarified disdainfully.

The redhead blinked slowly, nonplussed at first, and then lowered the book to her lap. "Let's see," she began, casting him a wicked grin before she raised her hand to deliberately count. "He's brave, loyal, handsome—"

"_Handsome_?" Draco baulked, letting out a snort of disgust.

"Yes!" Ginny persisted, annoyed at the interruption. "You think you're the only good-looking bloke at Hogwarts?"

The redhead looked as though she was about to clap both hands over her mouth once she had said the words. Instead, she looked frighteningly from side to side, hoping Draco didn't notice that she had just inadvertently admitted that she found him handsome. Most unwise on her part.

"Well, no," Draco began, painfully oblivious to the compliment, "there's Blaise too."

Ginny rolled her eyes (but looking very much relieved). "You're not _that_ handsome, Malfoy."

"Yes I am," Draco countered swiftly, raising a brow and smirking (thinking such an act would be considered charming, I'm sure). "And Potter isn't _that_ special." He sneered, brushing invisible dust off his robes. "I have qualities too."

Now it was Ginny's turn to sneer. "Right, you're conceited, arrogant, bigoted—"

"Weasley, please," he interjected, slumping back in his chair, "stop _complimenting_ me."

Draco then reached for a book off the shelf and began to read, acting as though she wasn't even there—as if they hadn't just had been conversing.

"I don't get you," she blurted out, causing him to glance up from his book (which I _highly_ doubt he was reading).

"What do you mean?" he asked, frowning, slightly annoyed.

Ginny threw her book down on the table in frustration. "You think so highly of yourself and so _lowly_ of me, yet you defended my honour against Harry!" She sat back and crossed her legs, staring intently at the man in front of her. "Why?"

Draco's frown deepened, and he fidgeted under her intense gaze. After letting out a disgruntled sigh, he set the book down on his lap and met her gaze. "I don't think lowly of you," he admitted slowly, quietly. "At least, not anymore."

"No?" she asked harshly, unconvinced.

Draco shrugged his shoulders and dismissed her doubts with a wave of his hand. "It doesn't matter anymore, Weasley," he said, picking up his book. "Besides, my mother taught me to be a gentleman."

"Seriously?" Ginny snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, you failed her miserably, Malfoy," she said darkly, pursing her lips together in annoyance. "You've been nothing but a complete arse at school!"

"School's different," he replied glibly, failing to meet her eye as he turned his attention back to the book in hand.

Ginny shifted in her seat. "How so?"

Draco brought a free palm to his eyes and rubbed them tenderly. "It just is, Weasley, and you know it—the houses and everything." He lowered his hand and looked her straight in the eye. "I mean, we're meant to compete against one another and hate each other."

"No we're not," she protested.

Draco snorted. "Really?" he asked seriously. "How often do you associate with Slytherins?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but the thoughts would not come, and the words would not form.

He smiled condescendingly. "I thought so."

"I have friends in other houses!" she cried desperately, grasping at straws, unwilling to let him win the debate.

He tilted his head and smirked, willing to continue the game. "Alright then. Name how many."

"Luna Lovegood from Ravenclaw," she answered swiftly and proudly, looking ever so smug.

Draco let out an inelegant snort. "Loony?" he asked, shaking his head. "She's ostracised from her own house. She has no one to make friends with except Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs."

Ginny fumed in her seat and was about to open her mouth when Draco raised his hand.

"So how many Puffles do you talk to, Weasley?"

"I…uh," she began, stalling.

Draco smirked triumphantly. "You stick with your kind just like I stick with mine."

"I…"

"Plus," he added, leaning forward, "why exactly would I be extra civil to a blood traitor?"

Ginny threw her hands up in the air in obvious frustration. "And here we come to the heart of the matter!" she spat, narrowing her brown eyes on him. "Why is that _so_ bloody important?"

"Blood?" he asked quizzically, as though she had just made a query into the most self-explanatory subject known to man.

"Yes!"

Draco shook his head, looking thoroughly puzzled with the redhead. "Blood is just as important to you as it is to me."

"What?"

Draco regarded her intently for a moment, gauging whether or not she was taking the piss. She obviously wasn't. She was oblivious.

"Your family is proud to be blood traitors _and_ pure-bloods," Draco stated seriously, sitting back in his seat. "You were raised to adhere to a certain set of beliefs and values, just as I was." He let out a sigh and sank back further into the chair, folding his hands together. "Listen, Weasley, we're both right, and we're both wrong." He glanced down at his lap almost bashfully. "I was wrong about you—"

He glanced up and saw her staring at him agape.

"You're not nearly as intolerable as I had once believed," he finished, recovering.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Thanks, I think," she said blandly, uncrossing her legs as she sat forward. "I just…" She paused, searching for the right words. "Why can't you ever show this more reasonable side of your personality at school?"

Draco genuinely laughed at this.

"What?" she asked, perplexed and mildly insulted.

"Weasley, I don't go to school to win the friendship of losers."

"You—"

"Look," he said, interrupting, "for generations my family has been in Slytherin, and I can assume the same can be said for your family and Gryffindor." When she didn't protest, he continued. "Neither one of us seeks friendship from the other houses." She opened her mouth, but he would not let her speak. "Do you plan on hanging out with Slytherins any time soon, Weasley?"

Ginny growled, annoyed at his rationality. "All Slytherins are ruthless snakes!"

"Why thank you," Draco said, bowing slightly. "And all Gryffindors are rash idiots."

Ginny gripped one of the arms of the sofa and tried to calm herself down. "Let's not argue about house traits," she said through clenched teeth.

Draco put down his book and grinned. "What shall we argue about next then?"

"Are you a Death Eater?"

Draco blinked slowly and sat back in his chair. "…That certainly came out of nowhere," he said after a moment's pause. "Technically, I am, but it's hard to explain."

Ginny sat back and crossed her legs once more. "We have lots of time, Malfoy, so why don't you try?"

Draco saw the look of determination in her eyes and gave a resigned sigh. He knew he would have to give his reasons why for the rest of his life—whether his side won or not.

"In the beginning," he began hesitantly, looking down at his hands, "I wanted the Mark more than anything." He glanced up at her almost earnestly, the slightest trace of a sneer lingering on his lips. "I thought it was an honour."

"...But?"

"But, with time, perceptions changed," he said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "It's one thing to talk the talk, but it's a different creature entirely to walk it." He clenched his fists and looked far away, past her, through her. "I couldn't do it." He shook his head. "It wasn't right."

"Why did you even try?" she asked, more curious than angry—more puzzled than upset.

"For my family," he answered without hesitation. "Ever since my father was sent to jail, the Dark Lord has held my parents hostage, my mother…" He paused, glancing up at Ginny, and then shook his head. "Look, I took the assignment because it was forced on me, but I also believed it to be a rite of passage—my initiation." He let out a strangled laugh, helpless and pitiful. "But as I began to execute my plans, I just…It no longer became an issue of pride but that of survival—for my family and for myself."

Once he finished talking, she didn't respond at first. Instead, they sat together, sharing an uncomfortable silence, until she finally decided to speak.

"Malfoy," she began, swallowing her pride and her hostility, "while I don't agree with the choices you made, I understand your need to protect your family."

Surprised at first, Draco nodded, oddly comforted by her words. "T-Thanks," he managed to stutter, unfamiliar with the word.

She smiled softly at this, and he almost returned that smile until her eyes suddenly lit with the remembrance of something painful.

"Malfoy, what do you think the Death Eaters will do with Luna?" she asked, unsure if she wanted to hear the answer.

"I'm not sure." He glanced up to see Ginny's face fall in despair. "She should be alright, though," he assured her somewhat awkwardly. "As a pure-blood and a friend of Potter's, she will most likely be used as bait, and that will keep her alive."

Ginny nodded her head slowly, seeming neither satisfied nor upset with his explanation, and glanced up at him with shining eyes. "Thank you."

Draco frowned. Maybe he wanted to do something more, offer her comfort, but he knew he couldn't. Instead, he offered an apology for his own involvement.

"Listen, Weasley," he began awkwardly, "I'm sorry for drugging you and trying to abduct you—"

"Apology accepted," Ginny interjected swiftly, raising a hand to effectively dismiss the topic of conversation. "It's—" She stopped herself and shook her head. "Let's just not talk about this right now."

Draco nodded and both sat once more in uncomfortable silence, picking up their books to read. After a moment, Draco cleared his throat.

"It's not like we'll remember any of this anyway," he said, as a measure of comfort either for himself or for her.

I'd like to think that it was for the both of them.

**xXx**

The next day was awkward, as though the two were preparing themselves for a wake. They didn't ignore each other really, but they didn't exactly engage in conversation either. They had meals together and sat in the drawing room, reading, but their conversations were perfunctory. That is until the next day.

Both were sitting on the sofa in front of the fire when Ginny began to fidget, shifting around on her seat. She then leant over and pulled the cushion aside, fishing Draco's stolen wand from underneath the sofa cushion. She smiled and held the wand out to Draco, who furrowed his brow. He put down the book that he was reading and took the wand from her hand, looking up at her and then looking down at the wand in his hand. He had almost forgot about the blasted thing. He didn't need it now, anyway, since he'd be returning to his world—with his own wand—in a few days' time. So why was she giving him Millicent's wand?

Ginny pulled out her own wand and smiled at Draco. "I'm going to teach you how to conjure a full-bodied Patronus," she stated confidently.

"Teach me?" he asked, sounding sceptical. "What if I don't want to be taught?"

Ginny stood up and walked over to the window, closing the curtains with a flick of her wrist. "Does it matter?" she asked in return, glancing at him over her shoulder. "I mean, your whole memory of everything that has happened while you were here—it's going to be erased."

"Exactly," Draco replied, putting the wand down on the table and standing up. "Why take the time and effort to learn if it will be forgot?"

Ginny spun around and put her hands on her hips. "Merlin, you are incorrigible," she chastised, exasperated. "Why not try it, just to see if you can do it?" Her features softened. "I mean, aren't there things you've always wanted to try but didn't because you were afraid you'd fail…or be judged?"

Draco looked into Ginny's eyes, finding a truth there. Who wouldn't be seduced by the idea of actions without repercussions—to do what you wanted and have no fear of being judged? Draco was intrigued.

"Alright then, Weasley," he assented, bending down to retrieve the wand from the table. "Teach away."

After that, the two tried for the better part of the night to have Draco conjure a Patronus, which really only resulted in Draco screaming at his wand or at Ginny, which, in turn, led to her threatening him with bodily harm.

"You can't give up so easily!" she cried, trying to encourage him. She, however, was just as frustrated as he. "You don't have to get it in one night. Most of us in the DA never got it for weeks."

Draco frowned, unconvinced. "But I am a Malfoy." (As if that were an explanation).

"Yeah, and as a Malfoy, you don't know how to produce a full-bodied Patronus—maybe because you're too obsessed with failing or succeeding rather than actually trying." Ginny shook her head and sighed, offering him a cheeky grin. "We've got a few days left. Why don't you just try being a regular boy?"

Draco seemed to take her words to heart because after that, he just didn't seem to care anymore. He didn't care that a Weasley was teaching him powerful magic. He didn't care if he messed up his wandwork and had to start over again. Hell, he didn't even care when the Weasley girl sat too close to him on the sofa. He was actually beginning to have fun.

On the third night, after dinner, they went back to work. Draco was improving. His Patronus was taking shape—what that shape was supposed to be was anyone's guess—but Ginny was more than pleased with his progress.

"That's it!" she cheered from behind his shoulder. "You can do it!"

Unfortunately, her presence distracted him, and his concentration waned—white mist evaporating. He lowered his wand in a huff and turned to glare at his instructor.

"I can't do it with you breathing down my neck, Weasley," he stated with a touch of annoyance, but his tone wasn't nearly as menacing as it used to be.

Ginny rolled her eyes, knowing that Draco was all talk, and placed her hands on her hips. "I'm encouraging you, Malfoy."

Draco tried hard to look put out, but he couldn't stop the grin from forming on his face. "Well, encourage me with silence, Weasley," he stated, quickly (and artfully, I might add) replacing his almost-smile with a sneer. "I need concentration."

"Your arse is in need of a good hex!" Ginny said, playfully pushing him over onto the sofa.

Draco sat back up and gave her a mock-scowl. "You have to stop with the threats."

Ginny grinned. "Or what? What are you going to do, Malfoy?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he set down his wand, lunged forward and picked her up, slinging her gracelessly over his right shoulder.

Ginny squawked. "What in the name of Circe are you doing?" she cried, dangling down his back as he walked with her towards the entryway.

"I'm going to throw you outside so that another sailor can find you," he answered with mock-seriousness, making his way to the door.

"What?" The redhead placed both hands on Draco's back and tried feebily to lift herself up. "No! No! Let me go!" she screamed, kicking her feet in the air.

Draco dropped her down off his shoulder and stood her up straight, catching her as she stumbled backward. When she began hitting him in the chest with her small fists, he smirked.

"You smirking sod," she mumbled, pushing him back, eliciting a genuine laugh from the blond.

"You love me for it Weasley, just admit it," he taunted, an amused grin lighting up his face.

Ginny rolled her eyes and turned around, walking back towards the drawing room. "Yeah, yeah, Malfoy. Now c'mon, let's conjure us a Patronus."

**xXx**

The next day, Draco had finally accomplished the seemingly impossible: he had conjured a full-bodied Patronus.

"You did it!" Ginny cheered from behind him, putting her hand on his shoulder in congratulation.

"I did," Draco replied smugly, staring at his Patronus with awe.

It was a large white wolf, as elegant as it was terrifying. It stalked about him like a predator, keeping low to the ground. It sniffed his leg and then glanced up at Ginny warily, its hackles slightly rising.

"So next time you need help getting to the loo, you can send this thing instead of whinging on about womanly qualities," Ginny suggested, raising an eyebrow.

"Why can't I do both?" Draco asked, smirking, as he turned around to face the redhead, bringing the wolf Patronus to her feet.

"Git!" she giggled, slapping Draco on the shoulder.

Draco, in turn, only seemed to grin at this action—instead of telling her to get her filthy blood-traitor hands off him.

"You know, my Patronus can eat your Patronus," he remarked absently, looking down rather proudly at his white wolf.

Ginny flicked her wand and produced her mare, giving Draco a daring look. "Yes, well mine can trample your Patronus's head." She smirked.

Draco's Patronus began to stalk about the drawing room and then returned to its master, sitting regally beside him.

"It's very pretty," Ginny commented, looking down at the wolf with a small smile on her lips. "I am shocked, I must admit."

"Why's that?" Draco asked, glancing up at the redhead, perplexed.

"I thought for sure it'd be a snake," Ginny replied, nodding her head with a serious expression plastered across her freckled face.

Draco reached out and playfully shoved the redhead back. "Now who's the git?"

Ginny laughed and dismissed her Patronus. "I guess a wolf suits you," she stated softly. "They are noble creatures—ferocious and fiercely loyal to their pack."

Draco nodded his head in agreement and summarily dismissed his Patronus. "And you're a lot like a horse," he said, facing her. "You eat lots of hay; you have a huge nose; you can be turned into glue…"

"Cheeky!" Ginny cried, shoving Draco back forcefully.

The two continued this childish behaviour—shoving each other back and forth, smiling and laughing—until Kreacher came in and summoned them for dinner. The rest of the evening was rather uneventful, but it was spent in pleasant company.

**xXx**

Oh, don't these bonding moments make you want to vomit into your tea? Speaking of which, can I have another cuppa? I need some caffeine if I'm to finish this horrendously sappy tale…

**xXx**


	8. Anywhere Else But Here

**Anywhere Else But Here**

**Chapter 8 – Anywhere Else But Here**

Truth be told, it was rather unnerving to watch Draco and Ginny getting along so—so swimmingly. Draco appeared to have approached the whole incident with a sense of abandon, living each moment like his memories would be taken away, and Ginny…Well, she just seemed to be going through the motions. Whatever the case may have been, for either individual, their past prejudices seemed to have vanished, replaced with a mutual respect…_sort of_.

Unfortunately, though, this fairy tale would have to come to an end, and the two new friends would have to part ways. But until then, there were still amusing and awkward moments for us to peep in on…

"Let's play Truth or Dare," Ginny announced suddenly, interrupting the comfortable silence that she and Draco had been sharing in the drawing room.

Draco, who was sitting across from her on a cushioned chair near the window, was reading one of the many books that lined the shelves behind him. Annoyed at being interrupted, he glanced up from his book to see the redhead curled up on the sofa across from him, casting him a sanguine look.

"What is that?" he asked hesitantly, sure that whatever game she was proposing was bound to be detrimental—to him.

"It's a game," she explained simply, curling her legs underneath.

Smacking his lips distastefully, Draco set down his book and leant back in his chair. "Yes, Weasley, I understand that the word 'play' is synonymous with 'game'," he retorted sarcastically, "but what exactly are the fundamentals of this Truth or Dare game you propose?"

"Well," Ginny began with unmasked enthusiasm, "it's a game where you choose to either answer a question truthfully or perform a dare. You won't know what the dare or the question will be, however, until you pick, beforehand, which one you want to do."

Draco thought on this somewhat complicated explanation for a moment and then folded his arms over his chest. "What if I don't want to do either?"

"You _have_ to," Ginny persisted, knitting her brow in an exasperated manner.

"I _have to_?" he mimicked, raising a pale brow in jest. "Who exactly is going to make me, Weasley—you?" He offered her a characteristic smirk, knowing it would make the redhead bristle with indignation. "I mean I could easily choose truth every time and just lie to you."

Ginny slumped back in her seat and let out a defeated sigh. "You really do sap the fun out of everything, you know that, right?"

Draco picked up his book and shrugged. "I aim to please."

Shaking her head, Ginny worried her bottom lip with her teeth until her eyes seemed to light up with an idea. "Hey, we can get Kreacher to hold us to our vows so that we don't lie."

Draco glanced up from his book to cast the redhead a dubious look. "I'm not performing an Unbreakable Vow over a _game_, Weasley."

"Not an _Unbreakable_ Vow," she retorted, rolling her eyes. "We could have it so that if one of us refuses to do the dare or tell the truth, he or she is punished in some way, like being lightly shocked or something."

Draco twisted his mouth into a grimace and raised his brow in a manner that spoke volumes, mainly that the redhead was spouting absolute nonsense that he wanted no part of.

"That doesn't sound like any kind of game I'd enjoy playing," he stated blandly, subtly looking Ginny up and down with calculating eyes. "You know, we could always play strip poker instead."

Letting out an inelegant snort, Ginny shook her head. "We don't have any cards," she remarked facetiously.

Draco set down his book and sat up in his chair, waving his hand dismissively. "Minor details, Weasley," he said. "We have chairs and that old record player over there." He pointed to an obsolete Victrola. "We could just play musical chairs, and the person who doesn't seat herself in time must strip off an article of clothing."

"_She_?" Ginny repeated, raising a red eyebrow in doubt. "I had no idea you had a sense of humour, Malfoy."

"Hey," he began, leisurely settling back into his chair, "I'm not just eye candy."

"Right…" Ginny said, sounding unconvinced, deliberately rolling her eyes. "Let's just play Truth or Dare."

Unimpressed, Draco finally agreed, drawing out the syllable with a dramatic sigh (like the insufferable drama queen that he is).

Satisfied, Ginny jumped to her feet and called out for the house-elf.

"Kreacher!" she shouted, causing Draco to flinch in his chair. After a moment had passed and no house-elf had appeared, Ginny's face began to turn red, matching the colour of her hair. "KREACHER!"

"Weasley!" Draco hissed, rising to his feet. "Are you trying to deafen me?"

"I'm trying to summon Kreacher," she explained petulantly, folding her arms over her chest, "but the stupid elf never comes when I call for him."

"I wonder why," Draco said blandly, glancing down at the petite redhead before he straightened his back and briskly summoned for the elf.

In a half-second, a loud pop sounded and Kreacher instantly appeared in front of Draco.

"Yes, Master?"

Ginny growled at the elf's obsequious behaviour towards Draco, and Draco only smirked in return. After explaining what they needed Kreacher to do for them, the house-elf performed the spell and was summarily dismissed, leaving the two silly teenagers to their equally silly games.

"Okay, you're first," Ginny said, grinning far too exuberantly for Draco's taste, as they both settled across from each other on the sofa.

"Me?" he asked, arching a blond eyebrow. "This is your game of torture, Weasley. _You_ go first."

"Fine," she answered all too quickly. "Truth."

A devilish smirk rose to Draco lips, and he settled back against the arm of the sofa. "So how far have you gone with a boy, Weasley?"

(Obviously Draco was determined to make Ginny regret proposing to play such a game with the likes of him).

Ginny's mouth opened and closed, her brow creasing with puzzlement and shock. "I-I don't see how that's any of your—" She stopped short, as though suddenly being jolted with electricity. "Oww! Son of a—" she cursed loudly, jumping in her seat and almost landing on Draco's lap. "That hurt!"

"You wanted to play, Weasley," Draco patronised, delicately pushing the redhead off his leg, "so answer the question."

Ginny let out a sort of strangled growl before crossing her arms over her chest. "I let Dean touch my breasts," she answered through gritted teeth, "_over_ the bra."

"You slag!" Draco accused teasingly, although the playfulness didn't quite reach his eyes. "What about Potter?"

"What about Harry?" Ginny asked in return, releasing her arms to hold up a finger warningly. "No follow-up questions! You only get the one and then it's your turn."

Draco lifted his hands, as if to ask what was next, and Ginny calmly returned her own hands to her lap.

"You turn: truth or dare?"

"Dare," Draco answered confidently, giving the redhead a smug look of self-assurance. His haughty exterior faltered, however, when he saw the mischievous glint in Ginny's eyes.

"Well," she began, putting a slender finger to her lips, "since you so wanted to play a stripping game, I dare you to strip for me." She smirked and lowered her finger, pointing to the floor in front of them. "Slowly."

Draco's pale face suddenly flushed red, and he clenched his hands into tight fists. "Why you little—" A jolt of pain suddenly shot through him, causing the blond to shudder and let out a gurgle of surprise. "Son of a—"

"Take it off, Malfoy," Ginny warned in a soft, deep voice, raising her brow in mock seriousness.

After the pain subsided, Draco rose to his feet, mumbling several colourful expletives. Slipping off his shoes and neatly sliding them to the side, Draco slowly began to take off his robes and threw them onto the empty chair.

"I _hate_ you, Weasley."

Ginny grinned from ear to ear with satisfaction—that is until Draco began to remove his shirt, slowly undoing each button. The redhead found herself mesmerised as the pale Slytherin slid the shirt off his shoulders, revealing a slender but toned chest and arms. Draco was no Adonis, but he was fit and tight and smooth, and as he began to unbuckle the belt to his trousers, a sharp gasp hitched in Ginny's throat, causing her to look away.

"Okay," Ginny said, waving her hands in front of her face in surrender. "Dare's over!" She swiftly covered her eyes with both hands and then drew one away, pointing at the ground. "Put your clothes back on!"

Draco stiffly stood up, pulling his trousers up and buckling the belt. Though admittedly embarrassed to strip in front of the Weasley girl, Draco must have felt rather smug seeing the redhead so flustered that she wouldn't let him finish—or look him in the eye.

Once fully dressed, Draco sat down on the sofa and reached forward, pulling Ginny's hands down from her eyes. "Your turn, Weasley."

Quickly releasing her hands from his, as though they burned at the touch, she mumbled "Truth", a slight blush still resting on the apples of her cheeks. If she was smart, there was no way she would accept a dare after what she had just made Draco do. But then Draco has always been rather clever: truth was just as dangerous, if not more so, than a dare.

Draco sat back against the arm of the sofa and stared at Ginny, who still refused to meet his gaze. "Were you really going to hex Potter that night you found us both fighting in the basement?"

Ginny swallowed hard and nodded. "Y-Yes."

"Why?"

Ginny glanced up, her face reddened and splotchy, while he remained the picture of calm. "Because I…because you…" She paused, trying to find the right words when her eyes lit up in remembrance. "Wait, no follow up questions—it's your turn."

"Truth," Draco answered quickly, arrogance etched in his features as he settled comfortably in his seat. "You're not making me strip for your pleasure anymore, Weasley. I know your game: you just like seeing me naked."

Ginny tilted her head to the side and looked past Draco, twisting her mouth into a grimace to prevent herself from grinning at his statement. After taking in a deep breath, she lowered her head and finally met Draco's eyes.

"Why did you defend my honour against Harry?"

Draco's smile faltered, and he thoughtfully ran his tongue along his incisor and shrugged. "It seemed like the right thing to do—urgh!"

Draco was seized by a fit of convulsions, which he quickly shook off with yet another string of colourful expletives. Clenching his hands into fists, he looked up at the redhead with dark grey eyes smouldering.

"Because it pissed me off that someone like him has someone like you worshiping him," he explained through gritted teeth, "yet he doesn't even appreciate you—and he certainly doesn't deserve you."

He wanted to take back the words the moment they left his mouth, but he couldn't. Instead, he scowled and unclenched his fists, looking away while Ginny glanced down at her hands on her lap, looking slightly awkward and something else…

"And you…" She paused, staring up at him through long lashes. "You would appreciate me?"

Draco brought his right hand up to his mouth and slid it down his chin, sighing in frustration. "No follow up questions, _remember_?" He cleared his throat and laced his fingers together, resting them on his knees. "Your turn."

"…Dare."

Draco's silver eyes flickered in the lamplight, and he leant forward, forcing Ginny to draw back.

"I dare you to look me in the eyes and tell me that our time together has meant _nothing_ to you, and that you look forward to our memories being erased."

Ginny drew in a shaky breath and opened her mouth. When no words came out, a shock of electricity coursed through her veins, and she flinched in pain.

"I-I," she stuttered, wincing as she looked down at her lap.

Draco's eyes softened, and he leant back, taking in a deep breath. "Game over then?"

Head still hung in defeat, she didn't reply. There was only silence and then a soft whisper.

"Game over."

**xXx**

Shacklebolt arrived the next morning with his special guest: a tall, hooded man, who stood behind the Auror with his head bowed. Both men quickly disappeared into the basement, setting up what they needed in order to perform the task at hand: to extract, alter, and erase the memories of Draco Malfoy.

Draco and Ginny stood in the entryway, waiting for Shacklebolt to call for Draco. The mood was sombre—both teenagers shuffling around on their feet, failing to look the other in the eyes. Someone had to break the silence, and, not surprisingly, it was Ginny.

"Good luck, Malfoy," she said unexpectedly, boldly offering her hand for him to shake. It was a gesture of faith and an extreme gamble on her part, for she was unsure if he would take it.

Draco furrowed his brow, and his steel grey eyes lightened as he searched her mind for the sincerity of her words and actions. She allowed him to do so, and this permission alone gave him the reassurances that he needed, that she was someone he could trust.

"You too, Weasley," he replied after a moment's pause, allowing his hand to slide into hers as the corners of his mouth twitch upward into a rare smile.

The shake seemed to linger, and a splotch of pink dominated her cheeks. She let go first, and the ghost of a smile that had lingered on his face instantly faded. His serious expression returned, but it was no longer mocking or harsh. In that moment, the two realised that they had shared too much to pretend to be enemies any longer.

"I—" she started, but could not bring herself to continue.

Draco knew what she wanted to say, what she wanted to ask, for these questions and answers were also on his mind.

"Nothing can change who we are," he stated, as if it were just a matter-of-fact. "This—" he said, gesturing to their surroundings with wide arms, "this was all just a hiccup in the original plan."

Ginny's lips twisted into a bitter frown, and her eyes flashed with anger—and hurt. "How can you say that?" she blurted out, her cheeks flushing red with embarrassment.

"I can say it because it is the truth, Ginny," he stated solemnly, casting his eyes downward.

She drew back at the sound of her name coming from his mouth. It was foreign, and it frightened her.

"See?" he said, looking back up at her as he took a bold step forward. "Can't you see how awkward this is—how…unnatural?"

"No, I can't," she replied stubbornly, her proud, pointed chin sticking out defiantly.

He let out an undignified snort. "No, I suspected that you wouldn't," he admitted with a slight chuckle, and another genuine smile rose to his lips. "I confess that—"

"You confess _what_?" she interrupted with forced venom, determined to go back to hating him like she assumed she would be forced to. "You confess that you could never be friends with a Weasley?" She had tried hard to sound disgusted and enraged, but she was too tired—and she knew that he was right.

"I confess," he continued softly—almost too softly, "that I am glad to return to my world, for it is the only one that I have known for the past seventeen years."

Draco sighed and reached forward, doing something rather unexpected: taking both her small hand in his and holding them against his chest.

"Weasley, you can't change a person in a day or in a week or even in a year," he explained forcefully, but there was no sarcasm, no condescension in his tone.

She glanced up at him with those wide, brown eyes of hers and then lowered her head. "I know," she mouthed plaintively, almost inaudibly, as she dropped his hands.

Seeing her spirits dampened so, Draco did yet another unexpected gesture: he reached out and lifted her chin with his fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze. His dark grey eyes were soft and full of concern: two things that I have never associated with Draco Malfoy.

"There's another confession I'd like to make though—one far more damning," he admitted hesitantly, holding her undivided attention. "I confess that I have been wanting to do something ever since we played that ridiculous Truth or Dare game—or maybe even before then, when you taught me how to conjure a Patronus."

"What's that?" she asked, confused yet curious to know the answer.

He paused for a moment, seeming unwilling or unable to take action, but then he shook his head as if to say 'screw it', realising that there were no bars held between them anymore—that they would forget everything soon. So what did any of it matter?

"This," he said, as if in answer, and reached out to grab her by the waist, swivelling her in close.

Ginny's eyes widened in surprise, but she did not step back. Instead, she took in a deep, shaky breath and tilted her chin upwards to meet his soft grey eyes with hers. He smiled and brought his hands to her face, cupping her cheeks as he lowered his lips to hers. It was a soft, tender kiss—without abandon, without urgency. It was slow and methodical—both taking every sigh into their mouths as their lips explored each other's canvases.

(I was waiting for it to get hot and heavy, but was soon disappointed.)

"Mister Malfoy, could you come join us now?" came the voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt, intruding.

The two jumped apart, embarrassed, and just as quickly as the unlikely romance had begun, it had ended. But the heat, the light, had still not yet left their eyes (how romantic).

Ginny brought her fingers to her lips, feeling the kiss still lingering there. "So, I guess I'll be seeing you around?" she asked, unable to prevent such a clichéd line from tumbling past her lips.

The cocky, self-assured smirk returned to Draco's pale face, and Ginny could not help but return it.

"Sure, Weasley," he answered casually, causing her face to flush, "although next time, let it be _anywhere_ else but here."

**The End…or is it?**

**xXx**


	9. I Think This Is Called An Epilogue

**Anywhere Else But Here**

**I Think This Is Called An Epilogue****… **

The young man sitting before me is overtly confident, but underneath the pompous exterior is a quiet shrewdness, the conservative restraint of an older man. There is certainly more to him than meets the eye.

"So that's it," he confesses, lifting his palms upwards. "Those are all the memories that Draco gave me in exchange for my protection and the Order's guarantee."

I raise an eyebrow in incredulity. "Lupin and Shacklebolt allowed your involvement in this?" I ask, still disbelieving that the boy had been given such liberties, such power.

"Of course," he answers in that cocksure tone of his. "They trust me." He smiles a charming smile full of white teeth, and I frown disapprovingly.

He is good, I'll admit. He has always been good. But I worry for the Order—so blindly trusting someone like him.

"I performed the Memory Charm on Draco, and he has been re-released into Death Eater society none the wiser," the young man says, as if he is recounting something trivial and mundane. "His cover story has already been circulated and accepted. If interrogated, the Dark Lord will be unable to tell that he is lying, for Draco will wholeheartedly believe the story that we've made up for him."

His smile widens, and it is then that I notice that it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He has become far too clever at this game, but even the craftiest men can be caught, can be brought down and ruined.

"The Dark Lord will know that Draco's memory has been tampered with if he chooses to inquire further," I explain.

His smile never falters. "True," he replies, "but Draco is not important to the Dark Lord—just as I am not."

I feel a small flicker of self-satisfaction. He isn't important—to either side, really. At least he doesn't appear to be. No one believes him to be a threat, yet that makes him the most dangerous man of all—perhaps even more so than myself.

"It is always wise to be prudent, to be prepared," I tell him, failing to show how powerful I believe that he could truly become in this scheme—or how utterly ruined.

"Not all of us are so gifted at Occlumency as you are, Professor," he states, a half-smirk forming on his lips.

I allow myself to indulge in the compliment. "Touché," I agree, as I sit at my desk, gathering the papers and the phials that he has given me. There is no need for this conversation to continue any further. I have work to do, and so does he. "You have done excellent work."

He bows his head in humble acquiescence, but I can see the faintest traces of a grin tug at the corners of his mouth. "Thank you."

If he were my equal, I would stand up and show him to the door, but he is not. It is what he would like to be acknowledged as, but I have never given him cause to think that I like or respect him. Instead, I focus on the parchment in front of me, effectively dismissing him with my negligence.

"Keep me informed of Draco's doings," I order in a low, clipped tone, my eyes still on the papers.

He rises to his feet. "Yes, Professor," he replies, his tone never betraying any kind of disappointment; perhaps he doesn't care for my approval.

As he makes his way towards the door, I am suddenly struck by a random thought. "One more thing," I ask him, glancing up, and he turns to face me. "Did you expunge Miss Weasley's memories as well?"

He subtly raises a dark eyebrow, and his mouth twitches into an annoying, smug smirk. "No," he replies, golden eyes flickering with the lamplight, "she remembers everything."

"Interesting…" I say aloud, turning my attention back to the memories in front of me. "Good evening then, Mister Zabini."

"Good evening, Professor Snape."

**The End **

**(for real this time...unless there's a sequel)**

**xXx**

**Endnotes:** ...And now you know why this story was voted **Most In Need Of A Sequel**. ^_~

So, if you haven't guessed who the narrator was, it was Blaise Zabini—and Snape was whom he was narrating to. I will most likely write a sequel for this some time next year, from Draco's and Ginny's PoV this time—yay! So until then, I hope you enjoyed this story. ^^

~Lia


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